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THE  WIT  AND  HUMOR 
of  AMERICA 


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JAMES    WHITCOMB    RILEY 


THEWIT  AND  HUMOR 
<?/ AMERICA 


Edited  by 

KATE  MILNER  RABB 


Volume  I 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  1907 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,   N.  Y. 


CONTENTS 


PAGB 

Melons Bret    Harte  i 

The  Deacon's  Masterpiece;  or,  The  Wonderful  "One-Hoss 

Shay" Oliver   Wendell   Holmes  9 

The  Purple  Cow Gelett  Burgess  13 

The  Curse  of  the  Competent Henry  J.  Finn  14 

The  Grammatical  Boy Bill  Nye  16 

Simple  English Ray  Clarke  Rose  19 

Partingtonian  Patchwork B.  P.  Shillaber  20 

The  Menagerie William  Vaughn  Moody  24 

Down  Around  the  River James  Whitcomb  Riley  29 

A  Medieval  Discoverer Bill  Nye  31 

Wanted — A  Cook Alan  Dale  35 

Similar  Cases Charlotte  Perkins  Oilman  56 

The  Old  Maid's  Plouse:  In  Plan Ehzabeth  Stuart  Phelps  60 

Distichs John    Hay  65 

The  Quarrel S.  E.  Kiser  68 

A  Letter  From  Mr.  Biggs E.  W.  Howe  69 

Mrs.   Johnson William   Dean   Howells  74 

Pass    Ironquill  91 

Teaching  by  Example John  G.  Saxe  91 

When  Albani  Sang William  Henry  Drummond  92 

Colonel  Sterett's  Panther  Hunt Alfred  Henry  Lewis  98 

Wouter  Van  Twiller Washington  Irving  109 

The  Experiences  of  the  A.  C Bayard  Taylor  116 

What  Mr.  Robinson  Thinks James  Russell  Lowell  131 

The  Day  We  Do  Not  Celebrate Robert  J.  Burdette  134 

The  Yankee  Dude'll  Do S.  E.  Kiser  136 

Spelling  Down  the  Master Edward  Eggleston  138 

Myopia Wallace  Rice  151 

Anatole  Dubois  at  De  Horse  Show Wallace  Bruce  Amsbary  152 


CONTENTS 

The  Champion  Checker- Player  of  Ameriky  page 

James  Whitcomb  Riley  156 

Darby  and  Joan St.  John  Honeywood  166 

When  the  Frost  Is  on  the  Punkin James  Whitcomb  Riley  169 

Laffing Josh    Billings  171 

Grizzly-Gru    Ironquill  174 

John  Henry  in  a  Street  Car Hugh  McHugh  177 

The   Muskeeter Josh  Billings  181 

The  Turnings  of  a  Bookworm Carolyn  Wells  182 

The  Feast  of  the  Monkeys John  Philip  Sousa  183 

The  Billville  Spirit  Meeting Frank  L.  Stanton  188 

A  Cry  From  the  Consumer Wilbur  D.  Nesbit  190 

A  Disappointment John  Boyle  O'Reilly  191 

The  British  Matron Nathaniel  Hawthorne  192 

The  Tragedy  of  It Alden  Charles  Noble  194 

Stage  Whispers Carolyn  Wells  195 

The   Pettibone  Lineage James  T.  Fields  196 

Why  Moles  Have  Hands Anne  Virginia  Culbertson  202 

A  Psalm  of  Life Phoebe  Cary  207 

An  Odyssey  of  K's Wilbur  D.  Nesbit  209 

The  Deacon's  Trout Henry  Ward  Beecher  212 

Enough Tom    Masson  213 

The  Fighting  Race Joseph  I.  C.  Clarke  214 

The  Organ Henry  Ward  Beecher  217 

My  Grandmother's  Turkey-Tail  Fan Samuel  Minturn  Peck  219 

The  Two  New  Houses Carolyn  W^ells  221 

Yes John    Boyle    O'Reilly  222 

Fascination John    B.    Tabb  222 

Barney   McGee Richard    Hovey  223 

The  Old  Deacon's  Version  of  the  Story  of  the  Rich  Man 

and  Lazarus Frank  L.  Stanton  227 

The  Two   Suitors Carolyn   Wells  229 

The  Recruit Robert  W.  Chambers  230 

The  Beecher  Beached John  B.  Tabb  232 

Our  Best  Society George  William  Curtis  233 

The  Two  Farmers Carolyn  Wells  258 

Samuel  Brown Phoebe  Cary  259 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Way  It  Wuz James  Whitcomb  Riley  261 

She  Talked Sam  Walter  Foss  264 

Grandma  Keeler  Gets  Grandpa  Ready  for  Sunday- School 

Sarah  P.  McLean  Greene  266 

Vive  La  Bagatelle Gelett   Burgess  280 

The  Two  Brothers Carolyn  Wells  281 

A  Letter Petroleum  V.  Nasby  282 

Familiar  Authors  at  Work Hayden  Carruth  289 

The  Lost  Word John   Paul  293 

The  Dutchman  Who  Had  the  "Small  Pox" Henry  P.  Leland  295 

Walk William    Devere  300 

Mr.  Dooley  on  Gold-Seeking Finley  Peter  Dunne  304 

Love  Sonnets  of  a  Hoodlum Wallace  Irwin  307 

How  "Ruby"  Played George  W.  Bagby  311 

Plagiarism John  B.  Tabb  316 

Go  Lightly,  Gal  (The  Cake-Walk) Anne  Virginia  Culbertson  317 

The  Golfer's  Rubaiyat H.  W.  Boynton  319 

Mr.  Dooley  on  Reform  Candidates Finley  Peter  Dunne  321 

An  Evening  Musicale May  Isabel  Fisk  325 

Comin'  Thu Anne  Virginia  Culbertson  233 

Aunt  Dinah's  Kitchen Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  335 

The  Strike  at  Hinman's Robert  J.  Burdette  342 

A  Nautical  Ballad Charles  E.  Carryl  348 

Natural  Perversities James  Whitcomb  Riley  350 

Budd  Wilkins  at  the  Show S.  E.  Kiser  352 

Ballad Charles  Godfrey  Leland  355 

The  Hoosier  and  the  Salt  Pile Danforth  Marble  357 

A  Rival  Entertainment Kate  Field  362 

Yawcob  Strauss Charles  Follen  Adams  370 

Seffy  and  Sally John  Luther  Long  372 

An  Archaeological  Congress Robert  J.  Burdette  390 

A  Boy's  View  of  It Frank  L.  Stanton  393 

"Ringworm  Frank" James  Whitcomb  Riley  395 

The  Colonel's  Clothes Caroline  Howard  Gilman  396 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 


Acknowledgment  is  due  to  the  following  publishers, 
whose  permission  was  cordially  granted  to  reprint  selec- 
tions which  appear  in  this  collection  of  American  humor. 

Ainslee's  Magazine  for  "Not  According  to  Sched- 
ule," by  Mary  Stewart  Cutting. 

The  Henry  Altemus  Company  for  "The  New 
Version,"  by  William  J.  Lampton. 

The  American  Publishing  Company  for  "How  We 
Bought  a  Sewin'  Machine  and  Organ,"  from  Josiah  Al- 
len's Wife  as  a  P.  A.  and  P.  L,  by  Marietta  Holley. 

D.  Appleton  &  Company  for  "The  Recruit,"  from 
With  the  Band,  by  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

E.  H.  Bacon  &  Company  for  "The  V-a-s-e"  and  "A 
Concord  Love-Song,"  from  The  V-a-s-e  and  Other  Bric- 
a-Brac,  by  James  Jeffrey  Roche. 

The  H.  M.  Caldwell  Company  for  "Yes"  and  "Dis- 
appointment," from  In  Bohemia,  by  John  Boyle  O'Reilly. 

The  Colver  Publishing  House  for  "The  Crimson 
Cord,"  by  Ellis  Parker  Butler,  and  "A  Ballade  of  the 
'How  to'  Books,"  by  John  James  Davies,  from  The  Amer- 
ican Illustrated  Magazine. 

The  Crowell  Publishing  Company  for  "Familiar 
Authors  at  Work,"  by  Hayden  Carruth,  from  The  Wom- 
an's Home  Companion. 

The  Curtis  Publishing  Company  for  "The  Love 
Sonnets  of  a  Husband,"  by  Maurice  Smiley,  and  "Cheer 
for  the  Consumer,"  by  Nixon  Waterman,  from  The  Sat- 
urday Evening  Post. 

ix 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

DeWolfe,  Fiske  &  Company  for  "Grandma  Keeler 
Gets  Grandpa  Ready  for  Sunday-School,"  from  Cape  Cod 
Folks,  by  Sarah  P.  McLean  Greene. 

Dick  &  Fitzgerald  for  "The  Thompson  Street  Poker 
C\uh,"  from  The  Thompson  Street  Poker  Club,  by  Henry 
Guy  Carleton. 

G.  W.  Dillingham  Company  for  'The  Tower  of 
London"  and  "Science  and  Natural  History,"  by  Charles 
Farrar  Browne  ("Artemus  Ward")  ;  "The  Muskeeter," 
from  Farmer's  Alminax,  and  "Laffing,"  from  Josh  Bil- 
lings: His  Works,  by  Henry  W.  Shaw  ("Josh  Billings")  ; 
and  for  "John  Henry  in  a  Street  Car,"  from  John  Henry, 
by  George  V.  Hobart  ("Hugh  McHugh"). 

DoDD,  Mead  &  Company  for  "The  Rhyme  of  the  Chiv- 
alrous Shark,"  "The  Forbearance  of  the  Admiral,"  "The 
Dutiful  Mariner,"  "The  Meditations  of  a  Mariner"  and 
"The  Boat  that  Ain't,"  from  Nautical  Lays  of  a  Lands- 
man, by  Wallace  Irwin. 

The  Duquesne  Distributing  Company  for  "The 
Grand  Opera,"  from  Billy  Baxters  Letters,  by  William 
J.  Kountz,  Jr. 

Paul  Elder  &  Company  for  Sonnets  I,  VHI,  IX,  XII, 
XIV,  XXI,  from  The  Love  Sonnets  of  a  Hoodlum,  by 
Wallace  Irwin. 

Everybody's  Magazine  for  "The  Strike  of  One,"  by 
Elliott  Flower;  "The  Wolf's  Holiday,"  by  Caroline 
Duer ;  "A  Mother  of  Four,"  by  Juliet  Wilbor  Tompkins ; 
"The  Weddin',"  by  Jennie  Betts  Hartswick,  and  "A 
Double-Dyed  Deceiver,"  by  Sydney  Porter  ("O. 
Henry"). 

The  Federal  Book  Company  for  "Budge  and  Tod- 
die,"  from  Helen's  Babies,  by  John  Habberton. 

Fords,  Howard  &  Hurlburt,  for  "The  Deacon's 
Trout,"  from  Norzuood,  by  Henry  Ward  Beecher. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Fox,  DuFFiELD  &  Company  for  "The  Paintermine," 
"The  Octopiissycat,"  "The  Welsh  Rabbittern,"  "The 
Bumblebeaver,"  "The  Wild  Boarder,"  from  Mixed 
Beasts,  by  Kenyon  Cox;  "The  Lost  Inventor,"  "Niagara 
Be  Dammed,"  "The  Ballad  of  Grizzly  Gulch,"  "A  Letter 
from  Home,"  "Crankidoxology"  and  "Fall  Styles  in 
Faces,"  from  "At  the  Sign  of  the  'Dollar,  by  Wallace  Ir- 
win, and  a  selection  from  The  Golfer's  Rubaiyat,  by 
Henry  W.  Boynton. 

The  Harvard  Lampoon  for  "A  Lay  of  Ancient 
Rome,"  by  Thomas  Ybarra. 

Henry  Holt  &  Company  for  "Araminta  and  the 
Automobile,"  from  Cheerful  Americans,  by  Charles  Bat- 
tell  Loomis. 

Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Company  for  "A  Letter  from 
Mr.  Biggs,"  from  The  Story  of  a  Country  Town,  by  E. 
W.  Howe;  "The  Notary  of  Perigueux,"  from  Oittre-Mer, 
by  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow ;  "A  Nautical  Ballad," 
from  Davy  and  the  Goblin,  by  Charles  E.  Carryl;  "The 
Spring  Beauties,"  from  The  Ride  to  the  Lady,  by  Helen 
Avery  Cone;  "Praise-God  Barebones,"  from  Songs  and 
Lyrics,  by  Ellen  M.  Hutchinson-Cortissoz ;  "Fable,"  from 
Poems,  by  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson;  "The  Owl  Critic" 
and  "Caesar's  Quiet  Lunch  with  Cicero,"  from  Ballads 
and  Other  Poems,  by  James  T.  Fields;  "The  Menagerie," 
from  Poems,  by  William  Vaughn  Moody;  "The  Brief- 
less Barrister,"  "Comic  Miseries,"  "A  Reflective  Retro- 
spect," "How  the  Money  Goes,"  "The  Coquette," 
"Icarus,"  "Teaching  by  Example,"  from  Poems,  by  John 
Godfrey  Saxe;  "My  Honey,  My  Love,"  by  Joel  Chandler 
Harris;  "Banty  Tim,"  "The  Mystery  of  Gilgal"  and 
"Distichs,"  from  Poems,  by  John  Hay;  "The  Deacon's 
Masterpiece,  or  The  Wonderful  One  Hoss  Shay,"  "The 
Height  of  the  Ridiculous,"  "Evening,  By  a  Tailor,"  "Lat- 

xi 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

ter  Day  Warnings,"  and  "Contentment,"  from  Poems,  by 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes;  two  selections  from  The  Auto- 
crat of  the  Breakfast  Table,  by  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 
and  "Dislikes,"_  f rom  The  Poet  at  the  Breakfast  Table, 
by  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes;  "Plain  Language  from 
Truthful  James,"  and  "The  Society  Upon  the  Stanislaus," 
from  Poems,  by  Bret  Harte;  "Melons,"  from  Mrs. 
Skaggs'  Husbands  and  Other  Sketches,  by  Bret  Harte; 
I  "The  Courtin',"  "A  Letter  from  Mr.  Ezekiel  Biglow" 
and  "What  Mr.  Robinson  Thinks,"  from  Poems,  by  James 
Russell  Lowell ;  "The  Chief  Mate,"  from  Fireside  Travels, 
by  James  Russell  Lowell ;  "A  Night  in  a  Rocking  Chair" 
and  "A  Rival  Entertainment,"  from  Haphazard,  by  Kate 
Field;  "Mrs.  Johnson,"  from  Suburban  Sketches,  by  Wil- 
liam Dean  How  ells;  "Garden  Ethics,"  from  My  Summer 
in  a  Garden,  by  Charles  Dudley  Warner;  "Our  Nearest 
Neighbor,"  from  Marjorie  Dazv  and  Other  Stories,  by 
Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich;  "Simon  Starts  in  the  World" 
(J.  J.  Hooper),  "The  Duluth  Speech"  (J.  Proctor 
Knott),  "Bill  Arp  on  Litigation"  (C.  H.  Smith),  "As- 
sault and  Battery"  (J.  G.  Baldwin),  "How  Ruby  Played" 
(G.  W.  Bagby),  from  Oddities  of  Southern  Life,  edited 
by  Henry  Watterson;  "The  Demon  of  the  Study,"  from 
Poems,  by  John  Greenleaf  Whittier;  "The  Old  Maid's 
House :  in  Plan,"  from  An  Old  Maid's  Paradise,  by  Eliza- 
beth Stuart  Phelps;  "Dum  Vivimus  Vigilamus,"  "What 
She  Said  About  It,"  "Dictum  Sapienti,"  "The  Lost 
Word"  and  "Abou  Ben  Butler,"  from  Poems,  by  Charles 
Henry  Webb  ("John  Paul")  ;  "Chad's  Story  of  the  Goose" 
and  "Colonel  Carter's  Story  of  the  Postmaster,"  from 
Colonel  Carter  of  Cartersville,  by  F.  Hopkinson  Smith; 
"The  British  Matron,"  from  Our  Old  Home,  by  Nathaniel 
Hawthorne ;  "As  Good  as  a  Play,"  from  Stories  from  My 
'Attic,  by  Horace  E.  Scudder ;  "The  Pettibone  Lineage," 

xii 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

by  James  T.  Fields;  "The  Experiences  of  the  A.  C,"  by 
Bayard  Taylor;  "Eve's  Daughter,"  by  Edward  Rowland 
Sill,  and  "The  Diamond  Wedding,"  by  Edmund  Clarence 
Stedman. 

William  R.  Jenkins  for  "It  Is  Time  to  Begin  to 
Conclude,"  from  Soldier  Songs  and  Love  Songs,  by  Al- 
exander H.  Laidlaw. 

John  Lane  Company  for  "The  Invisible  Prince," 
from  Comedies  and  Errors,  by  Henry  Harland. 

Life  Publishing  Company  for  "Hard,"  "Enough" 
and  "Desolation,"  from  In  Merry  Measure,  by  Tom  Mas- 
son;  "A  Branch  Library"  and  "Table  Manners,"  from 
Tomfoolery,  by  James  Montgomeiy  Flagg ;  "The  Sonnet 
of  the  Lovable  Lass  and  the  Plethoric  Dad,"  by  J.  W. 
Foley;  "Thoughts  for  an  Easter  Morning,"  by  Wallace 
Irwin;  "Suppressed  Chapters,"  by  Carolyn  Wells;  "The 
Conscientious  Curate  and  the  Beauteous  Ballad  Girl,"  by 
William  Russell  Rose,  and  "A  Poe-'em  of  Passion,"  by 
Charles  F.  Lummis. 

Lippincott's  Magazine  for  "The  Modern  Farmer," 
by  Jack  Appleton ;  "The  Wicked  Zebra"  and  "The  Happy 
Land,"  by  Frank  Roe  Batchelder;  "A  Mothers'  Meet- 
ing," by  Madeline  Bridges;  "The  Final  Choice"  and  "A 
Daniel  Come  to  Judgment,"  by  Edmund  Vance  Cooke; 
"The  Co-operative  Housekeepers"  and  "Her  'Angel'  Fa- 
ther," by  Elliott  Flower;  "Wasted  Opportunities,"  by 
Roy  Farrell  Greene;  "The  Auto  Rubaiyat,"  by  Reginald 
W.  Kauffman;  "It  Pays  to  be  Happy"  and  "Victory," 
by  Tom  Masson ;  "Is  It  I  ?"  by  Warwick  S.  Price ;  "John- 
ny's Lessons,"  by  Carroll  Watson  Rankin ;  "Her  Brother : 
Enfant  Terrible"  and  "Trouble-Proof,"  by  E.  L.  Sabin; 
"A  Bookworm's  Plaint,"  by  Clinton  Scollard;  "Nothin' 
Done,"  by  S.  S.  Stinson,  and  "Uncle  Bentley  and  the 
Roosters/'  by  Hayden  Carruth. 

xiii 


[ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Little,  Brown  &  Company  for  "ElizabetH  Eliza 
Writes  a  Paper,"  from  The  Pcterkin  Papers,  by  Lucretia 
P.  Hale;  "The  Skeleton  in  the  Closet,"  by  Edward  Ever- 
ett Hale,  and  "The  Wolf  at  Susan's  Door,"  from  The 
Wolf  at  Susan's  Door  and  Mrs.  Lathrop's  Love  Affair,  by 
Anne  Warner. 

LoTHROP,  Lee  &  Shepard  for  "A  Letter,"  from 
Szvingin'  Round  the  Circle,  by  David  Ross  Locke  ("P. 
V.  Nasby")  ;  "A  Cable  Car  Preacher"  and  "The  Prayer 
of  Cyrus  Brown,"  from  Dreams  in  Homespun,  by  Sam 
Walter  Foss;  "He  Wanted  to  Know,"  "Hullo!"  and  "She 
Talked,"  from  Back  Country  Poems,  by  Sam  Walter 
Foss;  "Mr.  Stiver's  Horse"  and  "After  the  Funeral," 
from  the  works  of  James  M.  Bailey  (The  Danbury  News 
Man)  ;  "Yawcob  Strauss,"  "Der  Oak  und  der  Vine,"  "To 
Bary  Jade"  and  "Shonny  Schwartz,"  from  Leetle  Yaiv- 
cob  Strauss,  by  Charles  Follen  Adams;  "The  Coupon 
Bonds"  and  "Darius  Greene,"  from  the  works  of  J.  T. 
Trowbridge,  and  Chapters  VH,  IX,  XVI,  XX,  XXI, 
from  "Partingtonian  Patchwork,"  by  B.  P.  Shillaber. 

The  S.  S.  McClure  Company  and  McClure,  Phil- 
lips &  Company  for  "Morris  and  the  Honorable  Tim," 
from  Little  Citizens,  by  Myra  Kelly. 

A.  C.  McClurg  &  Company  for  "Simple  English," 
from  At  the  Sign  of  the  Ginger  Jar,  by  Ray  Clarke  Rose, 
and  "Ye  Legende  of  Sir  Yroncladde,"  by  Wilbur  D.  Nes- 
bit,  from  The  Athlete's  Garland. 

David  McKay  for  "Hans  Breitmann's  Party,"  "Breit- 
mann  and  the  Turners,"  "Ballad,"  "Breitmann  in  Poli- 
tics" and  "Love  Song,"  from  Hans  Breitmann's  Ballads, 
by  Charles  Godfrey  Leland,  and  "A  Boston  Ballad," 
from  Leaves  of  Grass,  by  Walt  Whitman. 

The  Macmillan  Company  for  "In  a  State  of  Sin," 
from  The  Virginian,  by  Owen  Wister. 

xiv 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

The  Monarch  Book  Company  for  "The  Apostasy 
of  William  Dodge,"  from  The  Seekers,  by  Stanley  Wa- 
terloo. 

The  Frank  A.  Munsey  Company  for  "An  Educa- 
tional Project"  and  "The  Woman-Hater  Reformed,"  by 
Roy  Farrell  Greene;  "The  Trial  That  Job  Missed,"  by 
Kennett  Harris;  "The  Education  of  Grandpa,"  by  Wal- 
lace Irwin ;  "An  Improved  Calendar,"  by  Tudor  Jenks. 

Small,  Maynard  &  Company  for  "Mr  Dooley  on 
Gold  Seeking,"  "Mr.  Dooley  on  Expert  Testimony,"  "Mr. 
Dooley  on  Golf,"  "Mr.  Dooley  on  Football,"  "Mr.  Doo- 
ley on  Reform  Candidates,"  from  Mr.  Dooley  in  Peace 
and  War,  by  Finley  Peter  Dunne;  "E.  O.  R.  S.  W." 
from  "Alphabet  of  Celebrities,  by  Oliver  Herford ;  "A  Let- 
ter," from  The  Letters  of  a  Sclf-Made  Merchant  to  His 
Son,  by  George  Horace  Lorimer;  "Vive  La  Bagatelle" 
and  "Willy  and  the  Lady,"  from  A  Gage  of  Youth,  by 
Gelett  Burgess;  "When  the  Allegash  Drive  Goes 
Through,"  from  Pine  Tree  Ballads,  by  Holman  F.  Day ; 
"Had  a  Set  of  Double  Teeth,"  from  Up  in  Maine,  by 
Holman  F.  Day;  "Similar  Cases,"  from  In  This  Our 
World,  by  Charlotte  Perkins  Gilman;  "Barney  McGee," 
by  Richard  Hovey,  from  More  Songs  front  Vagabondia; 
"A  Modern  Eclogue,"  "The  Sceptics,"  "A  Staccato  to 
O  le  Lupe,"  "A  Spring  Feeling,"  "Her  Valentine"  and 
"In  Philistia,"  by  Bliss  Carman,  from  Last  Songs  from 
Vagabondia,  and  "Vive  la  Bagatelle,"  "A  Cavalier's  Val- 
entine" and  "Holly  Song,"  from  Hills  of  Song,  by  Clin- 
ton Scollard. 

The  Mutual  Book  Company  for  "James  and  Reg- 
inald" and  "The  Story  of  the  Two  Friars,"  from  The 
Tribune  Primer,  by  Eugene  Field. 

The  Orange  Judd  Company  for  "Spelling  Down 


XV 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

the  Master,"  from  The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster,  by  Ed- 
ward Eggleston. 

James  Pott  &  Company  for  "The  Gusher,"  from  I've 
Been  Thinking,  by  Charles  Battell  Loomis. 

G,  P.  Putnam's  Sons  for  "When  Albani  Sang"  and 
"The  Stove  Pipe  Hole,"  from  The  Habitant,  by  William 
Henry  Drummond;  "National  Philosophy,"  from  The 
Voyagciir,  by  William  Henry  Drummond ;  "The  Siege  of 
Djklxprwbz,"  "Grizzly-gru,"  "He  and  She,"  "The  Jack- 
pot," "A  Shining  Mark,"  "The  Reason,"  "Pass"  and 
"The  Whisperer,"  from  The  Rhymes  of  Ironquill,  by  Eu- 
gene F.  Ware,  and  "A  Family  Horse,"  from  The  Spar- 
rozvgrass  Papers,  by  Frederick  S.  Cozzens. 

Rand,  McNally  &  Company  for  "An  Arkansas 
Planter,"  from  An  Arkansas  Planter,  by  Opie  Read. 

A.  M.  Robertson  for  "The  Drayman,"  from  Songs 
of  Bohemia,  by  Daniel  O'Connell. 

R.  H.  Russell  for  "Mr.  Carteret  and  His  Fellow- 
Americans  Abroad,"  by  David  Gray,  from  The  Metro- 
politan Magazine. 

The  Smart  Set  Publishing  Company  for  "An 
Evening  Musicale,"  by  May  Isabel  Fisk,  from  The  Smart 
Set. 

The  Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company  for  "Colonel 
Sterett's  Panther  Hunt,"  from  Wolfville  Nights,  by  Al- 
fred Henry  Lewis;  "The  Bohemians  of  Boston,"  "The 
Purple  Cow"  and  "Nonsense  Verses,"  from  The  Bur- 
gess Nonsense  Book,  by  Gelett  Burgess,  and  "My  Grand- 
mother's Turkey-tail  Fan,"  "Little  Bopeep  and  Little 
Boy  Blue"  and  "My  Sweetheart,"  by  Samuel  Minturn 
Peck. 

The  Tandy-Wheeler  Publishing  Company  for 
"Utah,"  "A  New  Year  Idyl,"  "The  Warrior,"   "Lost 


XVI 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Chords"  and  "The  Advertiser,"  from  A  Little  Book  of 
Tribune  Verse,  by  Eugene  Field.  , 

Thompson  &  Thomas  for  "The  Grammatical  Boy," 
by  Edgar  Wilson  Nye  ("Bill  Nye"). 

The  a.  Wessels  Company  for  "The  Dying  Gag,"  by 
James  L.  Ford. 

M.  WiTMARK  &  Sons  for  "Walk,"  from  Jim  Mar- 
shall's New  Planner,  by  William  Devere. 

Special  thanks  are  due  to  George  Ade,  Wallace  Bruce 
Amsbary,  John  Kendrick  Bangs,  H.  W.  Boynton,  Gelett 
Burgess,  Ellis  Parker  Butler,  Hayden  Carruth,  Robert 
W.  Chambers,  Charles  Heber  Clarke,  Joseph  I.  C.  Clarke, 
Mary  Stewart  Cutting,  John  James  Davies,  Caroline 
Duer,  Mrs.  Edward  Eggleston,  May  Isabel  Fisk,  Elliott 
Flower,  James  L.  Ford,  David  Gray,  Sarah  P.  McLean 
Greene,  Jennie  Betts  Hartswick,  William  Dean  Howells, 
Wallace  Irwin,  Charles  F.  Johnson,  S.  E.  Kiser,  A.  H. 
Laidlaw,  Alfred  Henry  Lewis,  Charles  B.  Lewis,  Charles 
Battell  Loomis,  Charles  F.  Lummis,  T.  L.  Masson,  Wil- 
liam Vaughn  Moody,  R.  K.  Munkittrick,  W.  D.  Nesbit, 
Meredith  Nicholson,  Alden  Charles  Noble,  Samuel  Min- 
turn  Peck,  Sydney  Porter,  Wallace  Rice,  James  Whit- 
comb  Riley,  Doane  Robinson,  Henry  A.  Shute,  F.  Hop- 
kinson  Smith,  Harriet  Prescott  Spofford,  Howard  V. 
Sutherland,  John  B.  Tabb,  Bert  Leston  Taylor,  Juliet 
Wilbor  Tompkins,  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps  Ward,  Eugene 
F.  Ware,  Anne  Warner  French  and  Stanley  Waterloo  for 
permission  to  reprint  selections  from  their  works  and  for 
many  valuable  suggestions. 


5CV11 


THE  WIT  AND  HUMOR 
of  AMERICA 


THE  WIT   AND    HUMOR 
OF  AMERICA 

MELONS 

BY   BRET    HARTE 

As  I  do  not  suppose  the  most  gentle  of  readers  will  be- 
lieve that  anybody's  sponsors  in  baptism  ever  wilfully 
assumed  the  responsibility  of  such  a  name,  I  may  as  well 
state  that  I  have  reason  to  infer  that  Melons  was  simply 
the  nickname  of  a  small  boy  I  once  knew.  If  he  had  any 
other,  I  never  knew  it. 

Various  theories  were  often  projected  by  me  to  ac- 
count for  this  strange  cognomen.  His  head,  which  was 
covered  with  a  transparent  down,  like  that  which  clothes 
very  small  chickens,  plainly  permitting  the  scalp  to  show 
through,  to  an  imaginative  mind  might  have  suggested 
that  succulent  vegetable.  That  his  parents,  recognizing 
some  poetical  significance  in  the  fruits  of  the  season, 
might  have  given  this  name  to  an  August  child,  was  an 
oriental  explanation.  That  from  his  infancy,  he  was  fond 
of  indulging  in  melons,  seemed  on  the  whole  the  most 
likely,  particularly  as  Fancy  was  not  bred  in  McGinnis's 
Court.  He  dawned  upon  me  as  Melons.  His  proximity 
was  indicated  by  shrill,  youthful  voices,  as  "Ah,  Melons !" 
or  playfully,  "Hi,  Melons!"  or  authoritatively,  "You 
Melons!" 

McGinnis's  Court  was  a  democratic  expression  of  some 
obstinate  and  radical  property-holder.  Occupying  a 
limited  space  between  two  fashionable  thoroughfares,  it 

I 


MELONS 

refused  to  conform  to  circumstances,  but  sturdily  paraded 
its  unkempt  glories,  and  frequently  asserted  itself  in  un- 
grammatical  language.  My  window — a  rear  room  on  the 
ground  floor — in  this  way  derived  blended  light  and 
shadow  from  the  court.  So  low  was  the  window-sill  that, 
had  I  been  the  least  disposed  to  somnambulism,  it  would 
have  broken  out  under  such  favorable  auspices,  and  I 
should  have  haunted  McGinnis's  Court.  My  speculations 
as  to  the  origin  of  the  court  were  not  altogether  gratui- 
tous, for  by  means  of  this  window  I  once  saw  the  Past, 
as  through  a  glass  darkly.  It  was  a  Celtic  shadow  that 
early  one  morning  obstructed  my  ancient  lights.  It 
seemed  to  belong  to  an  individual  with  a  pea-coat,  a 
stubby  pipe,  and  bristling  beard.  He  was  gazing  intently 
at  the  court,  resting  on  a  heavy  cane,  somewhat  in  the 
way  that  heroes  dramatically  visit  the  scenes  of  their 
boyhood.  As  there  was  little  of  architectural  beaut)r  in 
the  court,'  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  McGinnis 
looking  after  his  property.  The  fact  that  he  carefully 
kicked  a  broken  bottle  out  of  the  road  somewhat  strength- 
ened me  in  the  opinion.  But  he  presently  walked  away, 
and  the  court  knew  him  no  more.  He  probably  collected 
his  rents  by  proxy — if  he  collected  them  at  all. 

Beyond  Melons,  of  whom  all  this  is  purely  introduc- 
tory, there  was  little  to  interest  the  most  sanguine  and 
hopeful  nature.  In  common  with  all  such  localities,  a 
great  deal  of  washing  was  done,  in  comparison  with  the 
visible  results.  There  was  always  some  thing  whisking 
on  the  line,  and  always  some  thing  whisking  through  the 
court,  that  looked  as  if  it  ought  to  be  there.  A  fish- 
geranium — of  all  plants  kept  for  the  recreation  of  man- 
kind, certainly  the  greatest  illusion — straggled  under  the 
window.  Through  its  dusty  leaves  I  caught  the  first 
glance  of  Melons. 

2 


BRET    HARTE 

His  age  was  about  seven.  He  looked  older  from  the 
venerable  whiteness  of  his  head,  and  it  was  impossible  to 
conjecture  his  size,  as  he  always  wore  clothes  apparently 
belonging"  to  some  shapely  youth  of  nineteen.  A  pair  of 
pantaloons,  that,  when  sustained  by  a  single  suspender, 
completely  equipped  him,  formed  his  every-day  suit. 
How,  with  this  lavish  superfluity  of  clothing,  he  managed 
to  perform  the  surprising  gymnastic  feats  it  has  been  my 
privilege  to  witness,  I  have  never  been  able  to  tell.  His 
"turning  the  crab,"  and  other  minor  dislocations,  were 
always  attended  with  success.  It  was  not  an  unusual 
sight  at  any  hour  of  the  day  to  find  Melons  suspended  on 
a  line,  or  to  see  his  venerable  head  appearing  above  the 
roofs  of  the  outhouses.  Melons  knew  the  exact  height  of 
every  fence  in  the  vicinity,  its  facilities  for  scaling,  and 
the  possibility  of  seizure  on  the  other  side.  His  more 
peaceful  and  quieter  amusements  consisted  in  dragging 
a  disused  boiler  by  a  large  string,  with  hideous  outcries, 
to  imaginary  fires. 

Melons  was  not  gregarious  in  his  habits.  A  few  youth 
of  his  own  age  sometimes  called  upon  him,  but  they 
eventually  became  abusive,  and  their  visits  were  more 
strictly  predatory  incursions  for  old  bottles  and  junk 
which  formed  the  staple  of  McGinnis's  Court.  Overcome 
by  loneliness  one  day.  Melons  inveigled  a  blind  harper 
into  the  court.  For  two  hours  did  that  wretched  man 
prosecute  his  unhallowed  calling,  unrecompensed,  and 
going  round  and  round  the  court,  apparently  under  the 
impression  that  it  was  some  other  place,  while  Melons 
surveyed  him  from  an  adjoining  fence  with  calm  satis- 
faction. It  was  this  absence  of  conscientious  motives 
that  brought  Melons  into  disrepute  with  his  aristocratic 
neighbors.  Orders  were  issued  that  no  child  of  wealthy 
and  pious  parentage  should  play  with  him.    This  man- 

3 


MELONS 

9ate,  as  a  matter  of  course,  invested  Melons  with  a  fas- 
cinating interest  to  them.  Admiring  glances  were  cast  at 
Melons  from  nursery  windows.  Baby  fingers  beckoned  to 
him.  Invitations  to  tea  (on  wood  and  pewter)  were 
lisped  to  him  from  aristocratic  back-yards.  It  was  evi- 
dent he  was  looked  upon  as  a  pure  and  noble  being,  un- 
trammelled by  the  conventionalities  of  parentage,  and 
physically  as  well  as  mentally  exalted  above  them.  One 
afternoon  an  unusual  commotion  prevailed  in  the  vicinity 
of  McGinnis's  Court.  Looking  from  my  window  I  saw 
Melons  perched  on  the  roof  of  a  stable,  pulling  up  a  rope 
by  which  one  "Tommy,"  an  infant  scion  of  an  adjacent 
and  wealthy  house,  was  suspended  in  mid-air.  In  vain 
the  female  relatives  of  Tommy,  congregated  in  the  back- 
yard, expostulated  with  Melons;  in  vain  the  unhappy 
father  shook  his  fist  at  him.  Secure  in  his  position. 
Melons  redoubled  his  exertions  and  at  last  landed  Tommy 
on  the  roof.  Then  it  was  that  the  humiliating  fact  was 
disclosed  that  Tommy  had  been  acting  in  collusion  with 
Melons.  He  grinned  delightedly  back  at  his  parents,  as 
if  "by  merit  raised  to  that  bad  eminence."  Long  before 
the  ladder  arrived  that  was  to  succor  him,  he  became  the 
sworn  ally  of  Melons,  and,  I  regret  to  say,  incited  by  the 
same  audacious  boy,  "chaffed"  his  own  flesh  and  blood 
below  him.  He  was  eventually  taken,  though,  of  course, 
Melons  escaped.  But  Tommy  was  restricted  to  the  win- 
dow after  that,  and  the  companionship  was  limited  to 
"Hi  Melons!"  and  "You  Tommy!"  and  Melons  to  all 
practical  purposes,  lost  him  forever.  I  looked  afterward 
to  see  some  signs  of  sorrow  on  Melons's  part,  but  in  vain ; 
he  buried  his  grief,  if  he  had  any,  somewhere  in  his  one 
voluminous  garment. 

At  about  this  time  my  opportunities  of  knowing  Melons 
Uecame  more  extended.  I  was  engaged  in  filling  a  void  in 

4 


BRET    HARTE 

the  Literature  pf  the  Pacific  Coast.  As  this  void  was  a 
pretty  large  one,  and  as  I  was  informed  that  the  Pacific 
Coast  languished  under  it,  I  set  apart  two  hours  each  day 
to  this  work  of  filling  in.  It  was  necessary  that  I  should 
adopt  a  methodical  system,  so  I  retired  from  the  world 
and  locked  myself  in  my  room  at  a  certain  hour  each 
day,  after  coming  from  my  office.  I  then  carefully  drew 
out  my  portfolio  and  read  what  I  had  written  the  day 
before.  This  would  suggest  some  alterations,  and  I 
would  carefully  rewrite  it.  During  this  operation  I  would 
turn  to  consult  a  book  of  reference,  which  invariably 
proved  extremely  interesting  and  attractive.  It  would 
generally  suggest  another  and  better  method  of  "filling 
in."  Turning  this  method  over  reflectively  in  my  mind, 
I  would  finally  commence  the  new  method  which  I  eventu- 
ally abandoned  for  the  original  plan.  At  this  time  I 
would  become  convinced  that  my  exhausted  faculties  de- 
manded a  cigar.  The  operation  of  lighting  a  cigar  usu- 
ally suggested  that  a  little  quiet  reflection  and  meditation 
would  be  of  service  to  me,  and  I  always  allowed  myself 
to  be  guided  by  prudential  instincts.  Eventually,  seated 
by  my  window,  as  before  stated.  Melons  asserted  himself. 
Though  our  conversation  rarely  went  further  than  "Hello, 
Mister !"  and  "Ah,  Melons !"  a  vagabond  instinct  we  felt 
in  common  implied  a  communion  deeper  than  words.  In 
this  spiritual  commingling  the  time  passed,  often  be- 
guiled by  gymnastics  on  the  fence  or  line  (always  with  an 
eye  to  my  window)  until  dinner  was  announced  and  I 
found  a  more  practical  void  required  my  attention.  An 
unlooked-for  incident  drew  us  in  closer  relation. 

A  sea-faring  friend  just  from  a  tropical  voyage  had 
presented  me  with  a  bunch  of  bananas.  They  were  not 
quite  ripe,  and  I  hung  them  before  my  window  to  mature 
in  the  sun  of  McGinnis's  Court,  whose  forcing  qualities 

5 


MELONS 

were  remarkable.  In  the  mysteriously  mingled  odors  of 
ship  and  shore  which  they  diffused  throughout  my  room, 
there  was  lingering  reminiscence  of  low  latitudes.  But 
even  that  joy  was  fleeting  and  evanescent:  they  never 
reached  maturity. 

Coming  home  one  day,  as  I  turned  the  corner  of  that 
fashionable  thoroughfare  before  alluded  to,  I  met  a  small 
boy  eating  a  banana.  There  was  nothing  remarkable  in 
that,  but  as  I  neared  McGinnis's  Court  I  presently  met 
another  small  boy,  also  eating  a  banana.  A  third  small 
boy  engaged  in  a  like  occupation  obtruded  a  painful  co- 
incidence upon  my  mind.  I  leave  the  psychological  reader 
to  determine  the  exact  co-relation  between  the  circum- 
stance and  the  sickening  sense  of  loss  that  overcame  me  on 
witnessing  it.  I  reached  my  room — the  bananas  were  gone. 

There  was  but  one  that  knew  of  their  existence,  but  one 
who  frequented  my  window,  but  one  capable  of  gym- 
nastic effort  to  procure  them,  and  that  was — I  blush  to 
say  it — Melons.  Melons  the  depredator — Melons,  de- 
spoiled by  larger  boys  of  his  ill-gotten  booty,  or  reckless 
and  indiscreetly  liberal;  Melons — now  a  fugitive  on 
some  neighborhood  house-top.  I  lit  a  cigar,  and,  draw- 
ing my  chair  to  the  window,  sought  surcease  of  sorrow 
in  the  contemplation  of  the  fish-geranium.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments something  white  passed  my  window  at  about  the 
level  of  the  edge.  There  was  no  mistaking  that  hoary 
head,  which  now  represented  to  me  only  aged  iniquity. 
It  was  Melons,  that  venerable,  juvenile  hypocrite. 

He  affected  not  to  observe  me,  and  would  have  with- 
drawn quietly,  but  that  horrible  fascination  which  causes 
the  murderer  to  revisit  the  scene  of  his  crime,  impelled 
him  toward  my  window.  I  smoked  calmly,  and  gazed  at 
him  without  speaking.  He  walked  several  times  up  and 
down  the  court  with  a  half-rigid,  half -belligerent  ex- 

6 


BRET    HARTE 

pression  of  eye  and  shoulder,  intended  to  represent  the 
carelessness  of  innocence. 

Once  or  twice  he  stopped,  and  putting  his  arms  their 
whole  length  into  his  capacious  trousers,  gazed  with  some 
interest  at  the  additional  width  they  thus  acquired.  Then 
he  whistled.  The  singular  conflicting  conditions  of  John 
Brown's  body  and  soul  were  at  that  time  beginning  to 
attract  the  attention  of  youth,  and  Melons's  performance 
of  that  melody  was  always  remarkable.  But  to-day  he 
whistled  falsely  and  shrilly  between  his  teeth.  At  last  he 
met  my  eye.  He  winced  slightly,  but  recovered  himself, 
and  going  to  the  fence,  stood  for  a  few  moments  on  his 
hands,  with  his  bare  feet  quivering  in  the  air.  Then  he 
turned  toward  me  and  threw  out  a  conversational  pre- 
liminary. 

"They  is  a  cirkis" — said  Melons  gravely,  hanging  with 
his  back  to  the  fence  and  his  arms  twisted  around  the  pa- 
lings— "a  cirkis  over  yonder!" — indicating  the  locality 
with  his  foot — "with  bosses,  and  hossback  riders.  They 
is  a  man  wot  rides  six  bosses  to  onct — six  bosses  to  onct 
— and  nary  saddle" — and  he  paused  in  expectation. 

Even  this  equestrian  novelty  did  not  affect  me.  I  still 
kept  a  fixed  gaze  on  Melons's  eye,  and  he  began  to  tremble 
and  visibly  shrink  in  his  capacious  garment.  Some  other 
desperate  means — conversation  with  Melons  was  always 
a  desperate  means — must  be  resorted  to.  He  recom- 
menced more  artfully. 

"Do  you  know  Carrots?" 

I  had  a  faint  remembrance  of  a  boy  of  that  euphonious 
name,  with  scarlet  hair,  who  was  a  playmate  and  perse- 
cutor of  Melons.    But  I  said  nothing. 

"Carrots  is  a  bad  boy.  Killed  a  policeman  onct.  Wears 
a  dirk  knife  in  his  boots,  saw  him  to-day  looking  in  your 
windy." 

7 


MELONS 

I  felt  that  this  must  end  here.  I  rose  sternly  and  ad- 
dressed Melons. 

"Melons,  this  is  all  irrelevant  and  impertinent  to  the 
case.  You  took  those  bananas.  Your  proposition  re- 
garding Carrots,  even  if  I  were  inclined  to  accept  it  as 
credible  information,  does  not  alter  the  material  issue. 
You  took  those  bananas.  The  offense  under  the  Statutes 
of  California  is  felony.  How  far  Carrots  may  have  been 
accessory  to  the  fact  either  before  or  after,  is  not  my  in- 
tention at  present  to  discuss.  The  act  is  complete.  Your 
present  conduct  shows  the  animo  furandi  to  have  been 
equally  clear." 

By  the  time  I  had  finished  this  exordium.  Melons  had 
disappeared,  as  I  fully  expected. 

He  never  reappeared.  The  remorse  that  I  have  ex- 
perienced for  the  part  I  had  taken  in  what  I  fear  may 
have  resulted  in  his  utter  and  complete  extermination, 
alas,  he  may  not  know,  except  through  these  pages.  For 
I  have  never  seen  him  since.  Whether  he  ran  away  and 
went  to  sea  to  reappear  at  some  future  day  as  the  most 
ancient  of  mariners,  or  whether  he  buried  himself  com- 
pletely in  his  trousers,  I  never  shall  know.  I  have  read 
the  papers  anxiously  for  accounts  of  him.  I  have  gone 
to  the  Police  Office  in  the  vain  attempt  of  identifying  him 
as  a  lost  child.  But  I  never  saw  him  or  heard  of  him 
since.  Strange  fears  have  sometimes  crossed  my  mind 
that  his  venerable  appearance  may  have  been  actually  the 
result  of  senility,  and  that  he  may  have  been  gathered 
peacefully  to  his  fathers  in  a  green  old  age.  I  have  even 
had  doubts  of  his  existence,  and  have  sometimes  thought 
that  he  was  providentially  and  mysteriously  offered  to  fill 
the  void  I  have  before  alluded  to.  In  that  hope  I  have 
written  these  pages. 


8 


THE   DEACON'S   MASTERPIECE 

OR,   THE   WONDERFUL   "ONE-HOSS   SHAY" 

A  Logical  Story 

BY   OLIVER   WENDELL   HOLMES 

Have  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 

That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way 

It  ran  a  hundred  years  to  a  day, 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  it — ah,  but  stay, 

I'll  tell  you  what  happened  without  delay, 

Scaring  the  parson  into  fits. 

Frightening  people  out  of  their  wits, — 

Have  you  ever  heard  of  that,  I  say? 

Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-five. 
Georgius  Secundus  was  then  alive, — 
Snuffy  old  drone  from  the  German  hive. 
That  was  the  year  when  Lisbon-town 
Saw  the  earth  open  and  gulp  her  down, 
And  Braddock's  army  was  done  so  brown, 
Left  without  a  scalp  to  its  crown. 
It  was  on  the  terrible  Earthquake-day 
That  the  Deacon  finished  the  one-hoss  shay. 

Now  in  building  of  chaises,  I  tell  you  what, 
There  is  always  somezvhere  a  weakest  spot, — 
In  hub,  tire,  felloe,  in  spring  or  thill, 
In  panel,  or  crossbar,  or  floor,  or  sill, 
9 


THE   DEACON'S    MASTERPIECE 

In  screw,  bolt,  thoroughtrace, — lurking  still. 
Find  it  somewhere  you  must  and  will, — 
Above  or  below,  or  within  or  without, — 
And  that's  the  reason,  beyond  a  doubt. 
That  a  chaise  breaks  down,  but  doesn't  wear  out. 

But  the  Deacon  swore,  (as  Deacons  do, 
With  an  *T  dew  vum,"  or  an  "I  tell  yeou,")^ 
He  would  build  one  shay  to  beat  the  taown 
'N'  the  keounty  'n'  all  the  kentry  raoun' ; 
It  should  be  so  built  that  it  couldn'  break  dapwn : 
— "Fur,"  said  the  Deacon,  "  't's  mighty  plain 
Thut  the  weakes'  place  mus'  stan'  the  strain; 
'N'  the  way  t'  fix  it,  uz  I  maintain, 

Is  only  jest 
T'  make  that  place  uz  strong  uz  the  rest." 

So  the  Deacon  inquired  of  the  village  folk 

Where  he  could  find  the  strongest  oak, 

That  couldn't  be  split  nor  bent  nor  broke, — 

That  was  for  spokes  and  floor  and  sills ; 

He  sent  for  lancewood  to  make  the  thills ; 

The  crossbars  were  ash,  from  the  straightest  trees. 

The  panels  of  whitewood,  that  cuts  like  cheese. 

But  lasts  like  iron  for  things  like  these ; 

The  hubs  of  logs  from  the  "Settler's  ellum,"— 

Last  of  its  timber, — they  couldn't  sell  'em. 

Never  an  axe  had  seen  their  chips. 

And  the  wedges  flew  from  between  their  lips, 

Their  blunt  ends  frizzled  like  celery-tips ; 

Step  and  prop-iron,  bolt  and  screw, 

Spring,  tire,  axle,  and  linchpin  too, 

Steel  of  the  finest,  bright  and  blue ; 

Thorpughbrace  bison-skin,  thick  and  widej 

10 


OLIVER    WENDELL    HOLMES 

Boot,  top,  dasher,  from  tough  old  hide 
Found  in  the  pit  when  the  tanner  died. 
That  was  the  way  he  "put  her  through." — 
"There!"  said  the  Deacon,  "naow  she'll  dew!" 

Do !  I  tell  you,  I  rather  guess 

She  was  a  wonder,  and  nothing  less  I 

Colts  grew  horses,  beards  turned  gray, 

Deacon  and  deaconess  dropped  away, 

Children  and  grandchildren — where  were  they? 

But  there  stood  the  stout  old  one-hoss  shay 

As  fresh  as  on  Lisbon-earthquake-day ! 

Eighteen  Hundred  ; — It  came  and  found 
The  Deacon's  masterpiece  strong  and  sound. 
Eighteen  hundred  increased  by  ten ; — 
"Hahnsum  kerridge"  they  called  it  then. 
Eighteen  hundred  and  twenty  came; — 
Running  as  usual ;  much  the  same. 
Thirty  and  forty  at  last  arrive, 
And  then  come  fifty,  and  fifty-five. 

Little  of  all  we  value  here 

Wakes  on  the  morn  of  its  hundredth  year 

Without  both  feeling  and  looking  queer. 

In  fact,  there's  nothing  that  keeps  its  youth, 

So  far  as  I  know,  but  a  tree  and  truth. 

(This  is  a  moral  that  runs  at  large; 

Take  it. — You're  welcome. — No  extra  charge. ) 

First  of  November, — The  Earthquake-day — 
There  are  traces  of  age  in  the  one-hpss  shay, 
A  general  flavor  of  mild  decay. 
But  nothing  local,  as  one  may  say. 
II 


THE    DEACON'S    MASTERPIECE 

There  couldn't  be, — for  the  Deacon's  art 
Had  made  it  so  like  in  every  part 
That  there  wasn't  a  chance  for  one  to  start. 
For  the  wheels  were  just  as  strong  as  the  thills, 
And  the  floor  was  just  as  strong  as  the  sills, 
And  the  panels  just  as  strong  as  the  floor. 
And  the  whipple-tree  neither  less  nor  more, 
And  the  back-crossbar  as  strong  as  the  fore, 
And  the  spring  and  axle  and  hub  encore. 
And  yet,  as  a  zvhole,  it  is  past  a  doubt 
In  another  hour  it  will  be  worn  out! 

First  of  November,  'Fifty-five! 

This  morning  the  parson  takes  a  drive. 

Now,  small  boys,  get  out  of  the  way ! 

Here  comes  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 

Drawn  by  a  rat-tailed,  ewe-necked  bay. 

"Huddup !"  said  the  parson. — Off  went  they. 

The  parson  was  working  his  Sunday's  text, — 

Had  got  to  fifthly,  and  stopped  perplexed 

At  what  the — Moses — was  coming  next. 

All  at  once  the  horse  stood  still, 

Close  by  the  meet'n'-house  on  the  hill. 

— First  a  shiver,  and  then  a  thrill, 

Then  something  decidedly  like  a  spill, — 

And  the  parson  was  sitting  upon  a  rock, 

At  half  past  nine  by  the  meet'n'-house  clock, — 

Just  the  hour  of  the  Earthquake  shock ! 

— What  do  you  think  the  parson  found, 

When  he  got  up  and  stared  around  ? 

The  poor  old  chaise  in  a  heap  or  mound. 

As  if  it  had  been  to  the  mill  and  ground ! 

You  see,  of  course,  if  you're  not  a  dunce, 

How  it  went  to  pieces  all  at  once, — 

12 


OLIVER   WENDELL    HOLMES 

All  at  once,  and  nothing  first, — 
Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst. 

End  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay. 
Logic  is  logic.    That's  all  I  say. 


THE  PURPLE  COW 

BY   GELETT   BURGESS 

Reflections  on  a  Mythic  Beast, 
Who's  Quite  Remarkable,  at  Least. 

I  never  Saw  a  Purple  Cow ; 

I  never  Hope  to  See  One ; 
But  I  can  Tell  you,  Anyhow, 

I'd  rather  See  than  Be  One. 

Cinq  Ans  Apres. 

(Confession:  and  a  Portrait,  Too, 
Upon  a  Background  that  I  R%ie!) 

Ah,  yes !  I  wrote  the  "Purple  Cow"- 
I'm  Sorry,  now,  I  Wrote  it! 

But  I  can  Tell  you,  Anyhow, 
I'll  Kill  you  if  you  Quote  it ! 


13 


THE  CURSE  OF  THE  COMPETENT 

BY   HENRY   J.    FINN 

My  spirit  hath  been  seared,  as  though  the  lightning's 
scathe  had  rent, 

In  the  swiftness  of  its  wrath,  through  the  midnight  firma- 
ment, 

The  darkly  deepening  clouds;  and  the  shadows  dim  and 
murky 

Of  destiny  are  on  me,  for  my  dinner's  naught  but — turkey. 

The  chords  upon  my  silent  lute  no  soft  vibrations  know, 
Save  where  the  moanings  of  despair — out-breathings  of 

my  woe — 
Tell  of  the  cold  and  selfish  world.    In  melancholy  mood, 
The  soul  of  genius  chills  with  only — fourteen  cords  of 

wood. 

The  dreams  of  the  deserted  float  around  my  curtained 

hours, 
And  young  imaginings  are  as  the  thorns  bereft  of  flowers ; 
A  wretched  outcast  from  mankind,  my  strength  of  heart 

has  sank 
Beneath  the  evils  of — ten  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank. 

This  life  to  me  a  desert  is,  and  kindness,  as  the  stream 
That  singly  drops  upon  the  waste  where  burning  breezes 
teem; 

14 


HENRY   J.    FINN' 

A  banished,  blasted  plant,  I  droop,  to  which  no  freshness 

lends 
Its  healing  balm,  for  Heaven  knows,  I've  but — a  doacn 

friends. 

And  Sorrow  round  my  brow  has  wreathed  its  coronal  of 

thorns ; 
No  dewy  pearl  of  Pleasure  my  sad  sunken  eyes  adorns ; 
Calamity  has  clothed  my  thoughts,   I   feel  a  bliss   no 

more, — 
Alas!  my  wardrobe  now  would  only — stock  a  clothing 

store. 

The  joyousness  of  Memory  from  me  for  aye  hath  fled ; 
It  dwells  within  the  dreary  habitation  of  the  dead ; 
I  breathe  my  midnight  melodies  in  languor  and  by  stealth, 
For  Fate  inflicts  upon  my  frame — the  luxury  of  health. 

Envy,  Neglect,  and  Scorn  have  been  my  hard  inheritance ; 

And  a  baneful  curse  clings  to  me,  like  the  stain  on  inno- 
cence ; 

My  moments  are  as  faded  leaves,  or  roses  in  their 
blight— 

I'm  asked  but  once  a  day  to  dine — to  parties  every  night. 

Would  that  I  were  a  silver  ray  upon  the  moonlit  air. 

Or  but  one  gleam  that's  glorified  by  each  Peruvian's 

prayer ! 
My  tortured  spirit  turns  from  earth,  to  ease  its  bitter 

loathing; 
My  hatred  is  on  all  things  here,  because — /  zvant  for 

nothing. 

J5 


THE  GRAMMATICAL  BOY 

BY   BILL   NYE 

Sometimes  a  sad,  homesick  feeling  comes  over  me, 
when  I  compare  the  prevaiHng  style  of  anecdote  and 
school  literature  with  the  old  McGuffey  brand,  so  well 
known  thirty  years  ago.  To-day  our  juvenile  literature, 
it  seems  tp  me,  is  so  transparent,  so  easy  to  understand, 
that  I  am  not  surprised  to  learn  that  the  rising  generation 
shows  signs  of  lawlessness. 

Boys  to-day  do  not  use  the  respectful  language  and 
large,  luxuriant  words  that  they  did  when  Mr.  McGuffey 
used  to  stand  around  and  report  their  conversations  for 
his  justly  celebrated  school  reader.  It  is  disagreeable  to 
think  of,  but  it  is  none  the  less  true,  and  for  one  I  think 
we  should  face  the  facts. 

I  ask  the  careful  student  of  school  literature  to  compare 
the  following  selection,  which  I  have  written  myself  with 
great  care,  and  arranged  with  special  reference  to  the 
matter  of  choice  and  difficult  words,  with  the  flippant  and 
commonplace  terms  used  in  the  average  school  book  of 
to-day. 

One  day  as  George  Pillgarlic  was  going  to  his  tasks, 
and  while  passing  through  the  wood,  he  spied  a  tall  man 
approaching  in  an  opposite  direction  along  the  highway. 

"Ah !"  thought  George,  in  a  low,  mellow  tone  of  voice, 
"whom  have  we  here?" 

"Good  morning,  my  fine  fellow,"  exclaimed  the 
stranger,  pleasantly.  "Do  you  reside  in  this  locality  ?" 

i6 


BILL   NYE 

"Indeed  I  do,"  retorted  George,  cheerily,  doffing  his 
cap.  "In  yonder  cottage,  near  the  glen,  my  widowed 
mother  and  her  thirteen  children  dwell  with  me." 

"And  is  your  father  dead  ?"  exclaimed  the  man,  with  a 
rising  inflection. 

"Extremely  so,"  murmured  the  lad,  "and,  oh,  sir,  that 
is  why  my  poor  mother  is  a  widow." 

"And  how  did  your  papa  die?"  asked  the  man,  as  he 
thoughtfully  stood  on  the  other  foot  a  while. 

"Alas !  sir,"  said  George,  as  a  large  hot  tear  stole  down 
his  pale  cheek  and  fell  with  a  loud  report  on  the  warty 
surface  of  his  bare  foot,  "he  was  lost  at  sea  in  a  bitter 
gale.  The  good  ship  foundered  two  years  ago  last  Christ- 
mastide,  and  father  was  foundered  at  the  same  time.  No 
one  knew  of  the  loss  of  the  ship  and  that  the  crew  was 
drowned  until  the  next  spring,  and  it  was  then  too  late." 

"And  what  is  your  age,  my  fine  fellow?"  quoth  the 
stranger. 

"If  I  live  till  next  October,"  said  the  boy,  in  a  declama- 
tory tone  of  voice  suitable  for  a  Second  Reader,  "I  will 
be  seven  years  of  age." 

"And  who  provides  for  your  mother  and  her  large 
family  of  children  ?"  queried  the  man. 

"Indeed,  I  do,  sir,"  replied  George,  in  a  shrill  tone.  "I 
toil,  oh,  so  hard,  sir,  for  we  are  very,  very  poor,  and  since 
my  elder  sister,  Ann,  was  married  and  brought  her  hus- 
band home  to  live  with  us,  I  have  to  toil  more  assiduously 
than  heretofore." 

"And  by  what  means  do  you  obtain  a  livelihood?"  ex- 
claimed the  man,  in  slowly  measured  and  grammatical 
words. 

"By  digging  wells,  kind  sir,"  replied  George,  picking 
up  a  tired  ant  as  he  spoke  and  stroking  it  on  the  back.  "I 
have  a  good  education,  and  so  I  am  able  to  dig  wells  as 

17 


THE   GRAMMATICAL   BOY 

well  as  a  man,  I  do  this  day-times  and  take  in  washing 
at  night.  In  this  way  I  am  enabled  barely  to  maintain  our 
family  in  a  precarious  manner;  but,  oh,  sir,  should  my 
other  sisters  marry,  I  fear  that  some  pf  my  brothers-in- 
law  would  have  to  suffer." 

"And  do  you  not  fear  the  deadly  fire-damp?"  asked  the 
stranger  in  an  earnest  tone. 

"Not  by  a  damp  sight,"  answered  George,  with  a  low 
gurgling  laugh,  for  he  was  a  great  wag. 

"You  are  indeed  a  brave  lad,"  exclaimed  the  stranger, 
as  he  repressed  a  smile.  "And  do  you  not  at  times  become 
very  weary  and  wish  for  other  ways  of  passing  your 
time?" 

"Indeed,  I  do,  sir,"  said  the  lad.  "I  would  fain  run  and 
romp  and  be  gay  like  other  boys,  but  I  must  engage  in 
constant  manual  exercise,  or  we  will  have  no  bread  to  eat, 
and  I  have  not  seen  a  pie  since  papa  perished  in  the  moist 
and  moaning  sea." 

"And  what  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  your  papa  did  not 
perish  at  sea,  but  was  saved  from  a  humid  grave  ?"  asked 
the  stranger  in  pleasing  tones. 

"Ah,  sir,"  exclaimed  George,  in  a  genteel  manner, 
again  doffing  his  cap,  "I  am  too  polite  to  tell  you  what  I 
would  say,  and  besides,  sir,  you  are  much  larger  than  I 
am." 

"But,  my  brave  lad,"  said  the  man  in  low  musical  tones, 
"do  you  not  know  me,  Georgie?   Oh,  George!" 

"I  must  say,"  replied  George,  "that  you  have  the  ad- 
vantage of  me.  Whilst  I  may  have  met  you  before,  I  can 
not  at  this  moment  place  you,  sir." 

"My  son !  oh,  my  son !"  murmured  the  man,  at  the  same 
time  taking  a  large  strawberry  mark  out  of  his  valise  and 
showing  it  to  the  lad.  "Do  you  not  recognize  your  parent 
on  your  father's  side?   When  our  good  ship  went  to  the 

i8 


BILL   NYE 

bottom,  all  perished  save  me.  I  swam  several  miles 
through  the  billows,  and  at  last,  utterly  exhausted,  gave 
up  all  hope  of  life.  Suddenly  I  stepped  on  something  hard. 
It  was  the  United  States. 

"And  now,  my  brave  boy,"  exclaimed  the  man  with 
great  glee,  "see  what  I  have  brought  for  you,"  It  was  but 
the  work  of  a  moment  to  unclasp  from  a  shawl-strap 
which  he  held  in  his  hand  and  present  to  George's  aston- 
ished gaze  a  large  forty-cent  watermelon,  which  until  now 
had  been  concealed  by  the  shawl-strap. 


SIMPLE  ENGLISH 

BY    RAY    CLARKE   ROSE 

Ofttimes  when  I  put  on  my  gloves, 

I  wonder  if  I'm  sane. 
For  when  I  put  the  right  one  on, 

The  right  seems  to  remain 
To  be  put  on — that  is,  't  is  left; 

Yet  if  the  left  I  don, 
The  other  one  is  left,  and  then 

I  have  the  right  one  on. 
But  still  I  have  the  left  on  right; 

The  right  one,  though,  is  left 
To  go  right  on  the  left  right  hand 

All  right,  if  I  am  deft. 


19 


PARTINGTONIAN  PATCHWORK 

BY    B.    P.    SHILLABER 
VII 

"Are  you  in  favor  of  the  prohibitive  law,  or  the  Hcense 
law  ?"  asked  her  opposite  neighbor  of  the  rehct  of  P.  P. ; 
corporal  of  the  "Bloody  'Leventh." 

She  carefully  weighed  the  question,  as  though  she  were 
selling  snuff,  and  answered, — 

"Sometimes  I  think  I  am,  and  then  again  I  think  I  am 
not." 

Her  neighbor  was  perplexed,  and  repeated  the  ques- 
tion, varying  it  a  little. 

"Have  you  seen  the  'Mrs.  Partington  Twilight  Soap'  ?" 
she  asked. 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply;  "everybody  has  seen  that;  but 
why?" 

"Because,"  said  the  dame,  "it  has  two  sides  to  it,  and  it 
is  hard  to  choose  between  them.  Now  here  are  my  two 
neighbors,  contagious  to  me  on  both  sides — one  goes  for 
probation,  t'other  for  licentiousness;  and  I  think  the  best 
thing  for  me  is  to  keep  nuisance." 

She  meant  neutral,  of  course.  The  neighbor  admired, 
and  smiled,  while  Ike  lay  on  the  floor,  with  his  legs  in  the 
air,  trying  to  balance  Mrs.  Partington's  fancy  waiter  on 
his  toe. 

IX 

Christmas  Ike  was  made  the  happy  possessor  of  a  fid- 
dle, which  he  found  in  the  morning  near  his  stocking. 

20 


B.    P.    SHILLABER 

"Has  fie  got  a  musical  bent?"  Banfield  aslced,  of  whom 
Mrs.  Partington  was  buying-  the  instrument. 

"Bent,  indeed!"  said  she;  "no,  he's  as  straight  as  an 
error." 

He  explained  by  repeating  the  question  regarding  his 
musical  inclination. 

"Yes,"  she  replied ;  "he's  dreadfully  inclined  to  music 
since  he  had  a  drum,  and  I  want  the  fiddle  to  see  if  I  can't 
make  another  Pickaninny  or  an  Old  Bull  of  him.  Jews- 
harps  is  simple,  though  I  can't  see  how  King  David 
played  on  one  of  'em,  and  sung  his  psalms  at  the  same 
time;  but  the  fiddle  is  best,  because  genius  can  show  itself 
plainer  on  it  without  much  noise.  Some  prefers  a  vio- 
leen ;  but  I  don't  know." 

The  fiddle  was  well  improved,  till  the  horsehair  all 
pulled  out  of  the  bow,  and  it  was  then  twisted  up  into  a 
fish-line. 

XVI 

"How  limpid  you  walk !"  said  a  voice  behind  us,  as  we 
were  making  a  hundred  and  fifty  horse-power  effort  to 
reach  a  table  whereon  reposed  a  volume  of  Bacon.  "What 
is  the  cause  of  your  lameness?"  It  was  Mrs.  Partington's 
voice  that  spoke,  and  Mrs.  Partington's  eyes  that  met  the 
glance  we  returned  over  our  left  shoulder.  "Gout,"  said 
we,  briefly,  almost  surlily.  "Dear  me,"  said  she;  "you  are 
highly  flavored!  It  was  only  rich  people  and  epicacs  in 
living  that  had  the  gout  in  olden  times."  "Ah!"  we 
growled,  partly  in  response,  and  partly  with  an  infernal 
twinge.  "Poor  soul !"  she  continued,  with  commisera- 
tion, like  an  anodyne,  in  the  tones  of  her  voice;  "the  best 
remedy  I  know  for  it  is  an  embarkation  of  Roman  worm- 
wood and  lobelia  for  the  part  infected,  though  some  say 
a  cranberry  poultice  is  best ;  but  I  believe  the  cranberries 

21 


PARTINGTONIAN    PATCHWORK 

is  for  erisipilis,  and  whether  either  of  'em  is  a  rostrum  for 
the  gout  or  not,  I  really  don't  know.  If  it  was  a  fraction 
of  the  arm,  I  could  jest  know  what  to  subscribe."  We 
looked  into  her  eye  with  a  determination  to  say  something 
severely  bitter,  because  we  felt  allopathic  just  then;  but 
the  kind  and  sympathizing  look  that  met  our  own  dis- 
armed severity,  and  sinking  into  a  seat  with  our  coveted 
Bacon,  we  thanked  her.  It  was  very  evident,  all  the 
while,  that  she,  or  they,  stayed,  that  Ike  was  seeing  how 
near  he  could  come  to  our  lame  member,  and  not  touch  it. 
He  did  touch  it  sometimes,  but  those  didn't  count. 

XX 

."I've  always  noticed,"  said  Mrs.  Partington  on  New 
Year's  Day,  dropping  her  voice  to  the  key  that  people 
adopt  when  they  are  disposed  to  be  philosophical  or 
moral;  "I've  always  noticed  that  every  year  added  to  a 
man's  life  is  apt  to  make  him  older,  just  as  a  man  who 
goes  a  journey  finds,  as  he  jogs  on,  that  every  mile  he 
goes  brings  him  nearer  where  he  is  going,  and  farther 
from  where  he  started.  I  am  not  so  young  as  I  was  once, 
and  I  don't  believe  I  shall  ever  be,  if  I  live  to  the  age  of 
Samson,  which.  Heaven  knows  as  well  as  I  do,  I  don't 
want  to,  for  I  wouldn't  be  a  centurion  or  an  octagon,  and 
survive  my  factories,  and  become  idiomatic,  by  any 
means.  But  then  there  is  no  knowing  how  a  thing  will 
turn  out  till  it  takes  place ;  and  we  shall  come  to  an  end 
some  day,  though  we  may  never  live  to  see  it." 

There  was  a  smart  tap  on  the  looking-glass  that  hung 
upon  the  wall,  followed  instantly  by  another. 

"Gracious !"  said  she ;  "what's  that  ?  I  hope  the  glass 
isn't  fractioned,  for  it  is  a  sure  sign  of  calamity,  and 


22 


B.    P.    SHILLABER 

mercy  knows  they  come  along-  full  fast  enough  without 
helping  'em  by  breaking  looking-glasses." 

There  was  another  tap,  and  she  caught  sight  of  a  white 
bean  that  fell  on  the  floor;  and  there,  reflected  in  the 
glass,  was  the  face  of  Ike,  who  was  blowing  beans  at  the 
mirror  through  a  crack  in  the  door. 

XXI 

"As  for  the  Chinese  question,"  said  Mrs.  Partington, 
reflectively,  holding  her  spoon  at  "present,"  while  the  va- 
por of  her  cup  of  tea  curled  about  her  face,  which  shone 
through  it  like  the  moon  through  a  mist,  "it  is  a  great  pity 
that  somebody  don't  answer  it,  though  who  under  the  can- 
ister of  heaven  can  do  it,  with  sich  letters  as  they  have  on 
their  tea-chists,  is  more  than  I  can  tell.  It  is  really  too 
bad,  though,  that  some  lingister  doesn't  try  it,  and  not 
have  this  provoking  question  asked  all  the  time,  as  if  we 
were  ignoramuses,  and  did  not  know  Toolong  from  No 
Strong,  and  there  never  was  sich  a  thing  as  the  seventh 
commandment,  which.  Heaven  knows,  suits  this  case  to  a 
T,  and  I  hope  the  breakers  of  it  may  escape,  but  I  don't 
see  how  they  can.  The  question  must  be  answered,  unless 
it  is  like  a  cannondrum,  to  be  given  up,  which  nobody  of 
any  spirit  should  do." 

She  brought  the  spoon  down  into  the  cup,  and  looked 
out  through  the  windows  of  her  soul  into  celestial  fields, 
peopled  with  pig-tails,  that  were  all  in  her  eye,  while  Ike 
took  a  double  charge  of  sugar  for  his  tea,  and  gave  an 
extra  allowance  of  milk  to  the  kitten. 


23 


THE  MENAGERIE 


BY   WILLIAM   VAUGHN    MOODY 

Thank  God  my  brain  is  not  inclined  to  cut 
Such  capers  every  day!   I'm  just  about 

Mellow,  but  then —  There  goes  the  tent  flap  shut. 
Rain  's  in  the  wind.  I  thought  so  :  every  snout 
Was  twitching  when  the  keeper  turned  me  out. 

That  screaming  parrot  makes  my  blood  run  cold. 

Gabriel's  trump !  the  big  bull  elephant 
Squeals  "Rain !"  to  the  parched  herd.   The  monkeys 
scold, 

And  jabber  that  it 's  rain-water  they  want. 

( It  makes  me  sick  to  see  a  monkey  pant. ) 

I'll  foot  it  home,  to  try  and  make  believe 
I'm  sober.  After  this  I  stick  to  beer, 

And  drop  the  circus  when  the  sane  folks  leave. 
A  man's  a  fool  to  look  at  things  too  near : 
They  look  back  and  begin  to  cut  up  queer. 

Beasts  do,  at  any  rate ;  especially 

Wild  devils  caged.  They  have  the  coolest  way 

Of  being  something  else  than  what  you  see : 
You  pass  a  sleek  young  zebra  nosing  hay, 
A  nylghau  looking  bored  and  distingue, — 
24 


WILLIAM   VAUGHN   MOODY 

And  thinic  you've  seen  a  donkey  and  a  bird. 

Not  on  your  life !  Just  glance  back,  if  you  dare. 
The  zebra  chews,  the  nylghau  has  n't  stirred; 

But  someth Inge's  happened,  Heaven  knows  what  or 
where. 

To  freeze  your  scalp  and  pompadour  your  hair. 

I'm  not  precisely  an  seolian  lute 

Hung  in  the  wandering  winds  of  sentiment, 

'But  drown  me  if  the  ugliest,  meanest  brute 
Grunting  and  fretting  in  that  sultry  tent 
Did  n't  just  floor  me  with  embarrassment ! 

'T  was  like  a  thunder-clap  from  out  the  clear — 
One  minute  they  were  circus  beasts,  some  grand, 

Some  ugly,  some  amusing,  and  some  queer : 
Rival  attractions  to  the  hobo  band. 
The  flying  jenny,  and  the  peanut-stand. 

Next  minute  they  were  old  hearth-mates  of  mine ! 
Lost  people,  eyeing  me  with  such  a  stare ! 

Patient,  satiric,  devilish,  divine; 

A  gaze  of  hopeless  envy,  squalid  care, 
Hatred,  and  thwarted  love,  and  dim  despair. 

Within  my  blood  my  ancient  kindred  spoke — 
Grotesque  and  monstrous  voices,  heard  afar 

Down  ocean  caves  when  behemoth  awoke. 

Or  through  fern  forests  roared  the  plesiosaur 
Locked  with  the  giant-bat  in  ghastly  war. 

And  suddenly,  as  in  a  flash  of  light, 

I  saw  great  Nature  working  out  her  plan ; 

Through  all  her  shapes,  from  mastodon  to  mite, 
Forever  groping,  testing,  passing  on 
To  find  at  last  the  shape  and  soul  of  Man. 
25 


THE    MENAGERIE 

Till  in  the  fullness  of  accomplished  time, 

Comes  brother  Forepangh,  upon  business  bent, 

Tracks  her  through  frozen  and  through  torrid  clime, 
And  shows  us,  neatly  labeled  in  a  tent, 
The  stages  of  her  huge  experiment; 

Babbling  aloud  her  shy  and  reticent  hours ; 

Dragging  to  light  her  blinking,  slothful  moods ; 

Publishing  fretful  seasons  when  her  powers 
Worked  wild  and  sullen  in  her  solitudes, 
Or  when  her  mordant  laughter  shook  the  woods. 

Here,  round  about  me,  were  her  vagrant  births ; 
Sick  dreams  she  had,  fierce  projects  she  essayed ; 

Her  qualms,  her  fiery  prides,  her  craze  mirths ; 
The  troublings  of  her  spirit  as  she  strayed, 
Cringed,  gloated,  mocked,  was  lordly,  was  afraid. 

On  that  long  road  she  went  to  seek  mankind ; 
Here  were  the  darkling  coverts  that  she  beat 

To  find  the  Hider  she  was  sent  to  find ; 
Here  the  distracted  footprints  of  her  feet 
.Whereby  her  soul's  Desire  she  came  to  greet. 

But  why  should  they,  her  botch-work,  turn  about 
And  stare  disdain  at  me,  her  finished  job  ? 

Why  was  the  place  one  vast  suspended  shout 
Of  laughter?  Why  did  all  the  daylight  throb 
With  soundless  guffaw  and  dumb-stricken  sob  ? 

Helpless  I  stood  among  those  awful  cages ; 

The  beasts  were  walking  loose,  and  I  was  bagged ! 

I,  I,  last  product  of  the  toiling  ages. 

Goal  of  heroic  feet  that  never  lagged — 
A  little  man  in  trousers,  slightly  jagged. 
26 


WILLIAM    VAUGHN    MOODY 

Deliver  me  from  such  another  jury ! 

The  Judgment-day  will  be  a  picnic  to  *t. 

Their  satire  was  more  dreadful  than  their  fury, 
And  worst  of  all  was  just  a  kind  of  brute 
Disgust,  and  giving  up,  and  sinking  mute. 

Survival  of  the  fittest  adaptation, 
And  all  their  other  evolution  terms. 

Seem  to  omit  one  small  consideration. 
To  wit,  that  tumblebugs  and  angleworms 
Have   souls :    there   's    soul    in    everything   that 
squirms. 

And  souls  are  restless,  plagued,  impatient  things, 
All  dream  and  unaccountable  desire ; 

Crawling,  but  pestered  with  the  thought  of  wings ; 
Spreading  through  every  inch  of  earth's  old  mire, 
Mystical  hanker  after  something  higher. 

.Wishes  are  horses,  as  I  understand. 

I  guess  a  wistful  polyp  that  has  strokes 
Of  feeling  faint  to  gallivant  on  land 

Will  come  to  be  a  scandal  to  his  folk ; 

Legs  he  will  sprout,  in  spite  of  threats  and  jokes. 

And  at  the  core  of  every  life  that  crawls 
Or  runs  or  flies  or  swims  or  vegetates — 

Churning  the  mammoth's  heart-blood,  in  the  galls 
Of  shark  and  tiger  planting  gorgeous  hates, 
Lighting  the  love  of  eagles  for  their  mates ; 

Yes,  in  the  dim  brain  of  the  jellied  fish 

That  is  and  is  not  living — moved  and  stirred 

From  the  beginning  a  mysterious  wish, 
A  vision,  a  command,  a  fatal  Word  : 
The  name  of  Man  was  uttered,  and  they  heard. 

27 


THE    MENAGERIE 

Upward  along  the  seons  of  old  war 

They  sought  him :  wing  and  shank-bone,  claw  and 
bill, 
Were  fashioned  and  rejected ;  wide  and  far 

They  roamed  the  twilight  jungles  of  their  will; 

But  still  they  sought  him,  and  desired  him  still. 

Man  they  desired,  but  mind  you,  Perfect  Man, 
The  radiant  and  the  loving,  yet  to  be ! 

I  hardly  wonder,  when  they  come  to  scan 
The  upshot  of  their  strenuosity, 
They  gazed  with  mixed  emotions  upon  me. 

Well,  my  advice  to  you  is,  Face  the  creatures, 
Or  spot  them  sideways  with  your  weather  eye, 

Just  to  keep  tab  on  their  expansive  features ; 
It  is  n't  pleasant  when  you  're  stepping  high 
To  catch  a  giraffe  smiling  on  the  sly. 

If  Nature  made  you  graceful,  don't  get  gay 

Back-to  before  the  hippopotamus ; 
If  meek  and  godly,  find  some  place  to  play 

Besides  right  where  three  mad  hyenas  fuss ; 

You  may  hear  language  that  we  won't  discuss. 

If  you  're  a  sweet  thing  in  a  flower-bed  hat, 
Or  her  best  fellow  with  your  tie  tucked  in. 

Don't  squander  love's  bright  springtime  girding  at 
An  old  chimpanzee  with  an  Irish  chin : 
There  may  be  hidden  meaning  in  his  grin: 


28 


DOWN  AROUND  THE  RIVER 

BY   JAMES    WHITCOMB    RILEY 

Noon-time  and  June-time,  down  around  the  river ! 
Have  to  furse  with  'Lizey  Ann — but  lawzy!    I  fergive 

her! 
Drives  me  off  the  place,  and  says  'at  all  'at  she's  a-wishin', 
Land  p'  gracious !  time'll  come  I'll  git  enough  o'  fishin' ! 
Little  Dave,  a-choppin'  wood,  never  'pears  to  notice; 
Don't  know  where  she's  hid  his  hat,  er  keerin'  where  his 

coat  is, — 
Specalatin',  more'n  like,  he  haint  a-goin'  to  mind  me, 
And  guessin'  where,  say  twelve  o'clock,  a  feller'd  likely 

find  me. 

Noon-time  and  June-time,  down  around  the  river ! 
Clean  out  o'  sight  o'  home,  and  skulkin'  under  kivver 
Of  the  sycamores,  jack-oaks,  and  swamp-ash  and  ellum — 
Idles  all  so  jumbled  up,  you  kin  hardly  tell  'em ! — 
Tired,  you  know,  but  lovin'  it,  and  smilin'  jest  to  think  'at 
Any  sweeter  tiredness  you'd  fairly  want  to  drink  it. 
Tired  o'  fishin' — tired  o'  fun — line  out  slack  and  slacker — 
All  you  want  in  all  the  world's  a  little  more  tobacker ! 

Hungry,  but  a-hidin'  it,  er  jes'  a-not  a-keerin' : — 
Kingfisher  gittin'  up  and  skootin'  out  o'  hearin' ; 
Snipes  on  the  t'other  side,  where  the  County  Ditch  is, 
Wadin'  up  and  down  the  aidge  like  they'd  rolled  their 
britches ! 

29 


DOWN   AROUND   THE    RIVER 

Old  turkle  on  the  root  kindo-sorto  drappin' 

Intpo  th'  worter  like  he  "don't  know  how  it  happen  I 

Wprter,  shade  and  all  so  mixed,  don't  know  which  you'd 

orter 
Say,  th'  worter  in  the  shadder — shadder  in  the  worter! 

Somebody  hollerin' — 'way  around  the  bend  in 
Upper  Fork — where  yer  eye  kin  jes'  ketch  the  endin' 
Of  the  shiney  wedge  o'  wake  some  muss-rat's  a-makin' 
With  that  pesky  nose  o'  his !    Then  a  sniff  o'  bacon, 
Corn-bread  and  'dock-greens — and  little  Dave  a-shinnin' 
'Crost  the  rocks  and  mussel-shells,  a-limpin'  and  a-grin- 

nin', 
With  yer  dinner  fer  ye,  and  a  blessin'  from  the  giver. 
Noon-time  and  June-time  down  around  the  river ! 


-'?o 


A'  MEDIEVAL  DISCOVERER 

BY    BILL    NYE 

Galilei,  commonly  called  Galileo,  was  born  at  Pisa  on 
the  14th  day  of  February,  1564.  He  was  the  man  who 
discovered  some  of  the  fundamental  principles  governing 
the  movements,  habits,  and  personal  peculiarities  of  the 
earth.  He  discovered  things  with  marvelous  fluency. 
Born  as  he  was,  at  a  time  when  the  rotary  motion  of  the 
earth  was  still  in  its  infancy  and  astronomy  was  taught 
only  in  a  crude  way,  Galileo  started  in  to  make  a  few 
discoveries  and  advance  some  theories  which  he  loved. 

He  was  the  son  of  a  musician  and  learned  to  play 
several  instruments  himself,  but  not  in  such  a  way  as  to 
arouse  the  jealousy  of  the  great  musicians  of  his  day. 
They  came  and  heard  him  play  a  few  selections,  and 
then  they  went  home  contented  with  their  own  music. 
Galileo  played  for  several  years  in  a  band  at  Pisa,  and 
people  who  heard  him  said  that  his  manner  of  gazing 
out  over  the  Pisan  hills  with  a  far-away  look  in  his  eye 
after  playing  a  selection,  while  he  gently  up-ended  his 
alto  horn  and  worked  the  mud-valve  as  he  poured  out 
about  a  pint  of  moist  melody  that  had  accumulated  in 
the  flues  of  the  instrument,  was  simply  grand. 

At  the  age  of  twenty  Galileo  began  to  discover.  His 
first  discoveries  were,  of  course,  clumsy  and  poorly  made, 
but  very  soon  he  commenced  to  turn  out  neat  and  durable 
discoveries  that  would  stand  for  years. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  he  noticed  the  swinging  of  a 
lamp  in  a  church,  and,  observing  that  the  oscillations 
were  of  equal  duration,  he  inferred  that  this  principle 
might  be  utilized  in  the  exact  measurement  of  time. 

31 


A    MEDIEVAL    DISCOVERER 

From  this  little  accident,  years  after,  came  the  clock,  one 
of  the  most  useful  of  man's  dumb  friends.  And  yet  there 
are  people  who  will  read  this  little  incident  and  still  hesi- 
tate about  going  to  church. 

Galileo  also  invented  the  thermometer,  the  microscope 
and  the  proportional  compass.  He  seemed  to  invent  things 
not  for  the  money  to  be  obtained  in  that  way,  but  solely 
for  the  joy  of  being  first  on  the  ground.  He  was  a  man 
of  infinite  genius  and  perseverance.  He  was  also  very 
fair  in  his  treatment  of  other  inventors.  Though  he  did 
not  personally  invent  the  rotary  motion  of  the  earth,  he 
heartily  indorsed  it  and  said  it  was  a  good  thing.  He 
also  came  out  in  a  card  in  which  he  said  that  he  believed 
it  to  be  a  good  thing,  and  that  he  hoped  some  day  to  see 
it  applied  to  the  other  planets. 

He  was  also  the  inventor  of  a  telescope  that  had  a 
magnifying  power  of  thirty  times.  He  presented  this  to 
the  Venetian  senate,  and  it  was  used  in  making  appropria- 
tions for  river  and  harbor  improvements. 

By  telescopic  investigation  Galileo  discovered  the  pres- 
ence of  microbes  in  the  moon,  but  was  unable  to  do  any- 
thing for  it.  I  have  spoken  of  Mr.  Galileo,  informally 
calling  him  by  his  first  name,  all  the  way  through  this 
article,  for  I  feel  so  thoroughly  acquainted  with  him, 
though  there  was  such  a  striking  difference  in  our  ages, 
that  I  think  I  am  justified  in  using  his  given  name  while 
talking  of  him. 

Galileo  also  sat  up  nights  and  visited  with  Venus 
through  a  long  telescope  which  he  had  made  himself  from 
an  old  bamboo  fishing-rod. 

But  astronomy  is  a  very  enervating  branch  of  science. 
Galileo  frequently  came  down  to  breakfast  with  red, 
heavy  eyes,  eyes  that  were  swollen  full  of  unshed  tears. 
Still  he  persevered.  Day  after  day  he  worked  and  toiled. 

32 


BILL    NYE 

Year  after  year  he  went  on  with  his  task  till  he  had 
worked  out  in  his  own  mind  the  satellites  of  Jupiter  and 
placed  a  small  tin  tag  on  each  one,  so  that  he  would  know 
it  readily  when  he  saw  it  again.  Then  he  began  to  look 
up  Saturn's  rings  and  investigate  the  freckles  on  the  sun. 
He  did  not  stop  at  trifles,  but  went  bravely  on  till  every- 
body came  for  miles  to  look  at  him  and  get  him  to  write 
something  funny  in  their  autograph  albums.  It  was  not  an 
unusual  thing  for  Galileo  to  get  up  in  the  morning,  after 
a  wearisome  night  with  a  fretful,  new-born  star,  to  find 
his  front  yard  full  of  albums.  Some  of  them  were  little 
red  albums  with  floral  decorations  on  them,  while  others 
were  the  large  plush  and  alligator  albums  of  the  affluent. 
Some  were  new  and  had  the  j)rice-mark  still  on  them, 
while  others  were  old,  foundered  albums,  with  a  droop 
in  the  back  and  little  flecks  of  egg  and  gravy  on  the  title- 
page.  All  came  with  a  request  for  Galileo  "to  write  a  lit- 
tle, witty,  characteristic  sentiment  in  them." 

Galileo  was  the  author  of  the  hydrostatic  paradox  and 
other  sketches.  He  was  a  great  reader  and  a  fluent  pen- 
man. One  time  he  was  absent  from  home,  lecturing  in 
Venice  for  the  benefit  of  the  United  Aggregation  of 
Mutual  Admirers,  and  did  not  return  for  two  weeks,  so 
that  when  he  got  back  he  found  the  front  room  full  of  au- 
tograph albums.  It  is  said  that  he  then  demonstrated  his 
great  fluency  and  readiness  as  a  thinker  and  writer.  He 
waded  through  the  entire  lot  in  two  days  with  only  two 
men  from  West  Pisa  to  assist  him.  Galileo  came  out  of 
it  fresh  and  youthful,  and  all  of  the  following  night  he 
was  closeted  with  another  inventor,  a  wicker-covered 
microscope,  and  a  bologna  sausage.  The  investigations 
were  carried  on  for  two  weeks,  after  which  Galileo  went 
out  to  the  inebriate  asylum  and  discovered  some  new 
styles  of  reptiles. 

33 


A   MEDIEVAL    DISCOVERER 

Galileo  was  the  author  of  a  little  work  called  "I  Discarsi 
e  Dimas-Trazioni  Matematiche  Intorus  a  Due  Muove 
Scienze."  It  was  a  neat  little  book,  of  about  the  medium 
height,  and  sold  well  on  the  trains,  for  the  Pisan  news- 
boys on  the  cars  were  very  affable,  as  they  are  now,  and 
when  they  came  and  leaned  an  armful  of  these  books  on 
a  passenger's  leg  and  poured  into  his  ear  a  long  tale  about 
the  wonderful  beauty  of  the  work,  and  then  pulled  in  the 
name  of  the  book  from  the  rear  of  the  last  car,  where  it 
had  been  hanging  on  behind,  the  passenger  would  most 
always  buy  it  and  enough  of  the  name  to  wrap  it  up  in. 

He  also  discovered  the  isochronism  of  the  pendulum. 
He  saw  that  the  pendulum  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year 
looked  yellow  under  the  eyes,  and  that  it  drooped  and  did 
not  enter  into  its  work  with  the  old  zest.  He  began  to 
study  the  case  witk  the  aid  of  his.  new  bamboo  telescope 
and  a  wicker-covered  microscope.  As  a  result,  in  ten  days 
he  had  the  pendulum  on  its  feet  again. 

Galileo  was  inclined  to  be  liberal  in  his  religious  views, 
more  especially  in  the  matter  of  the  Scriptures,  claiming 
that  there  were  passages  in  the  Bible  which  did  not  liter- 
ally mean  what  the  translator  said  they  did.  This  was 
where  Galileo  missed  it.  So  long  as  he  discovered  stars 
and  isochronisms  and  such  things  as  that,  he  succeeded, 
but  when  he  began  to  fool  with  other  people's  religious 
beliefs  he  got  into  trouble.  He  was  forced  to  fly  from 
Pisa,  we  are  told  by  the  historian,  and  we  are  assured  at 
the  same  time  that  Galileo,  who  had  always  been  far,  far 
ahead  of  all  competitors  in  other  things,  was  equally  suc- 
cessful as  a  fleer. 

Galileo  received  but  sixty  scudi  per  year  as  his  salary 
while  at  Pisa,  and  a  part  of  that  he  took  in  town  prders, 
worth  only  sixty  cents  on  the  scudi. 


34 


WANTED— A  COOK 


BY    ALAN    DALE 


There  was  a  ring  at  the  front  door-bell,  Letitia, 
wrought-up,  nervously  clutched  my  arm.  For  a  moment 
a  sort  of  paralysis  seized  me.  Then,  alertly  as  a  young 
calf,  I  bounded  toward  the  door,  hope  aroused,  and  ex- 
pectation keen.  It  was  rather  dark  in  the  outside  hall,  and 
I  could  not  quite  perceive  the  nature  of  our  visitor.  But 
I  soon  gladly  realized  that  it  was  something  feminine,  and 
as  I  held  the  door  open,  a  thin,  small,  soiled  wisp  of  a 
woman  glided  in  and  smiled  at  me. 

*'Talar  ni  svensk?"  she  asked,  but  I  had  no  idea  what 
she  meant.  She  may  have  been  impertinent,  or  even  rude, 
or  perhaps  improper,  but  she  looked  as  though  she  might 
be  a  domestic,  and  I  led  her  gently,  reverently,  to  Letitia 
in  the  drawing-room.  I  smiled  back  at  her,  in  a  wild  en- 
deavor to  be  sympathetic.  I  would  have  anointed  her,  or 
bathed  her  feet,  or  plied  her  with  figs  and  dates,  or  have 
done  anything  that  any  nationality  craves  as  a  welcome. 
As  the  front  door  closed  I  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  Here 
was  probably  the  quintessence  of  five  advertisements. 
Out  of  the  mountain  crept  a  mouse,  and  quite  a  little 
mouse,  too! 

"Talar  ni  svensk f"  proved  to  be  nothing  more  out- 
rageous than  "Do  you  speak  Swedish  ?"  My  astute  little 
wife  discovered  this  intuitively.  I  left  them  together, 
my  mental  excuse  being  that  women  understand  each 
other  and  that  a  man  is  unnecessary,  under  the  circum- 

35 


WANTED— A   COOK 

'stances.  I  Had  some  misgivings  on  the  subject  of  L'etitia 
and  svensk,  but  the  universal  language  of  femininity  is 
not  without  its  uses.  I  devoutly  hoped  that  Letitia  would 
be  able  to  come  to  terms,  as  the  mere  idea  of  a  cook  who 
couldn't  excoriate  us  in  English  was,  at  that  moment, 
delightful.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  strolled 
back  to  the  drawing-room.  Letitia  was  smiling  and  the 
hand-maiden  sat  grim  and  uninspired. 

"I've  engaged  her,  Archie,"  said  Letitia.  "She  knows 
nothing,  as  she  has  told  me  in  the  few  words  of  English 
that  she  has  picked  up,  but — you  remember  what  Aunt 
Julia  said  about  a  clean  slate." 

I  gazed  at  the  maiden,  and  reflected  that  while  the  term 
"slate"  might  be  perfectly  correct,  the  adjective  seemed 
a  bit  over-enthusiastic.  She  was  decidely  soiled,  this 
quintessence  of  a  quintette  of  advertisements.  I  said 
nothing,  anxious  not  to  dampen  Letitia's  elation. 

"She  has  no  references,"  continued  my  wife,  "as  she 
has  never  been  out  before.  She  is  just  a  simple  little 
Stockholm  girl.  I  like  her  face  immensely,  Archie — im- 
mensely. She  is  willing  to  begin  at  once,  which  shows 
that  she  is  eager,  and  consequently  likely  to  suit  us.  Wait 
for  me,  Archie,  while  I  take  her  to  the  kitchen.  Kom, 
Gerda." 

Exactly  why  Letitia  couldn't  say  "Come,  Gerda," 
seemed  strange.  She  probably  thought  that  Kom  must 
be  Swedish,  and  that  it  sounded  well.  She  certainly  in- 
vented Kom  on  the  spur  pf  the  Scandinavian  moment, 
and  I  learned  afterward  that  it  was  correct.  My  inspired 
Letitia !  Still,  in  spite  of  all,  my  opinion  is  that  "Come, 
Gerda,"  would  have  done  just  as  well. 

"Isn't  it  delightful?"  cried  Letitia,  when  she  joined 
me  later.  "I  am  really  enthusiastic  at  the  idea  of  a 
Swedish  girl.    I  adore  Scandinavia,  Archie.    It  always 

36 


ALAN    DALE 

makes  me  think  of  Ibsen.  Perhaps  Gerda  Lyberg — that's 
her  name — will  be  as  interesting  as  Hedda  Gabler,  and 
Mrs,  Alving,  and  Nora,  and  all  those  lovely  complex 
Ibsen  creatures." 

"They  were  Norwegians,  dear,"  I  said  gently,  anxious 
not  to  shatter  illusions ;  "the  Ibsen  plays  deal  with  Chris- 
tiania,  not  with  Stockholm."  • 

"But  they  are  so  near,"  declared  Letitia,  amiable  and 
seraphic  once  more.  "Somehow  or  other,  I  invariably 
mix  up  Norway  and  Sweden  and  Denmark.  I  know  I 
shall  always  look  upon  Gerda  as  an  Ibsen  girl,  who  has 
come  here  to  'live  her  life,'  or  'work  out  her  inheritance.* 
Perhaps,  dear,  she  has  some  interesting  internal  disease, 
or  a  maggoty  brain.  Don't  you  think,  Archie,  that  the 
Ibsen  inheritances  are  always  most  fascinating?  A  bit 
morbid,  but  surely  fascinating." 

"I  prefer  a  healthy  cook,  Letitia,"  I  said  meditatively, 
"somebody  willing  to  interest  herself  in  our  inheritance, 
rather  than  in  her  own." 

"I  don't  mind  what  you  say  now,"  she  pouted,  "I  am 
not  to  be  put  down  by  clamor.  We  really  have  a  cook  at 
last,  and  I  feel  more  lenient  toward  you,  Archie.  Of 
course  I  was  only  joking  when  I  suggested  the  Ibsen 
diseases.  Gerda  Lyberg  may  have  inherited  from  her  an- 
cestors something  quite  nice  and  attractive." 

"Then  you  mustn't  look  upon  her  as  Ibsen,  Letitia,"  I 
protested.  "The  Ibsen  people  never  inherit  nice  things. 
Their  ancestors  always  bequeath  nasty  ones.  That  is 
where  their  consistency  comes  in.  They  are  receptacles 
for  horrors.  Personally,  if  you'll  excuse  my  flippancy, 
I  prefer  Norwegian  anchovies  to  Norwegian  heroines.  It 
is  a  mere  matter  of  opinion." 

"I'm  ashamed  of  you,"  retorted  Letitia  defiantly.  "You 
talk  like  some  of  the  wretchedly  frivolous  criticisms,  so 

37 


WANTED— A    COOK 

called,  that  men  like  Acton  Davies  and  Alan  Dale  inflict 
upon  the  long-suffering  public.  They  never  amuse  me. 
Ibsen  may  make  his  heroines  the  recipients  of  ugly  lega- 
cies, but  he  has  never  yet  cursed  them  with  the  odious 
incubus  known  as  *a  sense  of  humor,'  The  people  with  a 
sense  of  humor  have  something  in  their  brains  worse  than 
maggots.  'We'll  drop  the  subject,  Archie.  I'm  going  to 
learn  Swedish.  Before  Gerda  Lyberg  has  been  with  us  a 
month  I  intend  to  be  able  to  talk  fluently.  It  will  be  most 
useful.  Next  time  we  go  to  Europe  we'll  take  in  Sweden, 
and  I'll  do  the  piloting.  I  am  going  to  buy  some  Swedish 
books,  and  study.  Won't  it  be  jolly?  And  just  think  how 
melancholy  we  were  this  morning,  you  and  I,  looking 
out  of  that  window,  and  trying  to  materialize  cooks. 
Wasn't  it  funny,  Archie?  What  amusing  experiences  we 
shall  be  able  to  chronicle,  later  on !" 

Letitia  babbled  on  like  half  a  dozen  brooks,  and  think- 
ing up  a  gentle  parody,  in  the  shape  of,  "cooks  may  come, 
and  men  may  go,"  I  decided  to  leave  my  household  gods 
for  the  bread-earning  contest  down-town.  I  could  not 
feel  quite  as  sanguine  as  Letitia,  who  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten the  dismal  results  of  the  advertisement — just  one 
little  puny  Swedish  result.  I  should  have  preferred  to 
make  a  choice.  Letitia  was  as  pleased  with  Gerda  Lyberg 
as  though  she  had  been  a  selection  instead  of  a  that-or- 
nothing. 

If  somebody  had  dramatized  Gerda  Lyberg's  initial 
dinner,  it  would  probably  have  been  considered  exceed- 
ingly droll.  As  a  serious  episode,  however,  its  humor,  to 
my  mind,  lacked  spontaneity.  Letitia  had  asked  her  to 
cook  us  a  little  Swedish  meal,  so  that  we  could  get  some 
idea  of  Stockholm  life,  in  which,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  we  were  supposed  to  be  deeply  interested.  Un- 
fortunately I  was  extremely  hungry,  and  had  carefully 

38 


ALAN    DALE 

avoided  luncheon  in  order  to  give  my  appetite  a  chance. 
We  sat  down  to  a  huge  bowl  of  cold,  greasy  soup,  in 
which  enormous  lumps  of  meat  swam,  as  though  for  their 
life,  awaiting  rescue  at  the  prongs  of  a  fork.  In  addition 
to  this  epicurean  dish  was  a  teeming  plate  of  water- 
soaked  potatoes,  delicately  boiled.  That  was  all.  Letitia 
said  that  it  was  Swedish,  and  the  most  annoying  part  of 
the  entertainment  was  that  I  was  alone  in  my  critical  dis- 
approbation. Letitia  was  so  engrossed  with  a  little 
Swedish  conversation  book  that  she  brought  to  table  that 
she  forgot  the  mere  material  question  of  food — forgot 
everything  but  the  horrible  jargon  she  was  studying,  and 
the  soiled,  wisp-like  maiden,  who  looked  more  unlike  a 
clean  slate  than  ever. 

"What  shall  I  say  to  her,  Archie?"  asked  Letitia,  turn- 
ing over  the  pages  of  her  book,  as  I  tried  to  rescue  a  block 
of  meat  from  the  cold  fat  in  which  it  lurked.  "Here  is  a 
chapter  on  dinner.  *I  am  very  hungry,'  'Jag  dr  myckel 
hungrig.'  Rather  pretty,  isn't  it  ?  Hark  at  this :  'Kypare 
gif  mig  niatsedeln  och  vinlistan.'  That  means :  'Waiter, 
give  me  the  bill  of  fare,  and  the  list  of  wines.'  " 

"Don't,"  I  cried;  "don't.  This  woman  doesn't  know 
what  dining  means.   Look  out  a  chapter  on  feeding," 

Letitia  was  perfectly  unruffled.  She  paid  no  attention 
to  me  whatsoever.  She  was  fascinated  with  the  slovenly 
girl,  who  stood  around  and  gaped  at  her  Swedish. 

"Gerda,"  said  Letitia,  with  her  eyes  on  the  book,  "Gif 
mir  apven  senap  och  n'dgra  potdter."  And  then,  as  Miss 
Lyberg  dived  for  the  drowned  potatoes,  Letitia  exclaimed 
in  an  ecstasy  of  joy,  "She  understands,  Archie,  she  un- 
derstands. I  feel  I  am  going  to  be  a  great  success.  Jag 
tackar,  Gerda,  That  means  T  thank  you,'  Jag  tackar. 
See  if  you  can  say  it,  Archie.  Just  try,  dear,  to  oblige  me. 
Jag  tackar.  Now,  that's  a  good  boy,  jag  tackar." 

39 


WANTED— A    COOK 

"I  won't,"  I  declared  spitefully.  "No  jag  tackaring 
for  a  parody  like  this,  Letitia.  You  don't  seem  to  realize 
that  I'm  hungry.  Honestly,  I  prefer  a  delicatessen  din- 
ner to  this." 

"  'Pray,  give  me  a  piece  of  venison,'  "  read  Letitia,  ab- 
solutely disregarding  my  mood.  "  'Var  god  och  gif  mig 
ett  stycke  vildt.'  It  is  almost  intelligible,  isn't  it,  dear  ?  'Ni 
dter  icke' :  you  do  not  eat." 

"I  can't,"  I  asserted  mournfully,  anxious  to  gain  Leti- 
tla's  sympathy. 

It  was  not  forthcoming.  Letitia's  eyes  were  fastened 
pn  Gerda,  and  I  could  not  help  noting  on  the  woman's 
face  an  expression  of  scorn.  I  felt  certain  of  it.  She  ap- 
peared to  regard  my  wife  as  a  sort  of  irresponsible  freak, 
and  I  was  vexed  to  think  that  Letitia  should  make  such 
an  exhibition  of  herself,  and  countenance  the  alleged  meal 
that  was  set  before  us. 

"  'I  have  really  dined  very  well,'  "  she  continued  joy- 
ously.   "Jag  har  verkligen  atit  mycket  bra/  " 

"If  you  are  quite  sure  that  she  doesn't  understand 
English,  Letitia,"  I  said  viciously,  "I'll  say  to  you  that 
this  is  a  kind  of  joke  I  don't  appreciate.  I  won't  keep 
such  a  woman  in  the  house.  Let  us  put  on  our  things  and 
go  out  and  have  dinner.   Better  late  than  never." 

Letitia  was  turning  over  the  pages  of  her  book,  quite 
lost  to  her  surroundings.  As  I  concluded  my  remarks  she 
looked  up  and  exclaimed,  "How  very  funny,  Archie. 
Just  as  you  said  'Better  late  than  never,'  I  came  across 
that  very  phrase  in  the  list  of  Swedish  proverbs.  It  must 
be  telepathy,  dear.  'Better  late  than  never,'  'Battre  sent 
an  aldrig.'  What  were  you  saying  on  the  subject,  dear? 
Will  you  repeat  it  ?  And  do  try  it  in  Swedish,  Say  'Battre 
sent  an  aldrig.' " 

"Letitia,"  I  shot  forth  in  a  fury,  "I'm  not  in  the  humor 

40 


ALAN    DALE 

for  this  sort  of  thing.  I  think  this  dinner  and  this  wpman 
are  rotten.  See  if  you  can  find  the  word  rotten  in 
Swedish." 

"I  am  surprised  at  you,"  Letitia  declared  glacially, 
roused  from  her  book  by  my  heroic  though  unparliament- 
ary language.  "Your  expressions  are  neither  English  nor 
Swedish.  Please  don't  use  such  gutter-words  before  a 
servant,  to  say  nothing  of  your  own  wife." 

"But  she  doesn't  understand,"  I  protested,  glancing  at 
Miss  Lyberg.  I  could  have  sworn  that  I  detected  a  gleam 
in  the  woman's  eyes  and  that  the  sphinx-like  attitude  of 
dull  incomprehensibility  suggested  a  strenuous  effort. 
"She  doesn't  understand  anything.  She  doesn't  want  to 
understand." 

"In  a  week  from  now,"  said  Letitia,  "she  will  under- 
stand everything  perfectly,  for  I  shall  be  able  to  talk 
with  her.  Oh,  Archie,  do  be  agreeable.  Can't  you  see 
that  I  am  having  great  fun  ?  Don't  be  such  a  greedy  boy. 
If  you  could  only  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  you 
wouldn't  be  so  oppressed  by  the  food  question.  Oh,  dear ! 
How  important  it  does  seem  to  be  to  men.  Gerda,  hiir 
gammal  dr  ni?" 

The  maiden  sullenly  left  the  room,  and  I  felt  convinced 
that  Letitia  had  Swedishly  asked  her  to  do  so.  I  was 
wrong.  "Hur  gammal  dr  ni,'"  Letitia  explained,  simply 
meant,  "How  old  are  you  ?" 

"She  evidently  didn't  want  to  tell  me,"  was  my  wife's 
comment,  as  we  went  to  the  drawing-room.  "I  imagine, 
dear,  that  she  doesn't  quite  like  the  idea  of  my  ferreting 
out  Swedish  so  persistently.  But  I  intend  to  persevere. 
The  worst  of  conversation  books  is  that  one  acquires  a 
language  in  such  a  parroty  way.  Now,  in  my  book,  the 
only  answer  to  the  question  'How  old  are  you?'  is,  *I 
was  born  on  the  tenth  of  August,  1852.'   For  the  life  of 

41 


WANTED— A    COOK 

me,  I  couldn't  vary  that,  and  it  would  be  most  embarrass- 
ing. It  would  make  me  fifty-two.  If  any  one  asked  me  in 
Swedish  how  old  I  was,  I  should  have  to  be  fifty-two !" 

"When  I  think  of  my  five  advertisements,"  I  said 
lugubriously,  as  I  threw  myself  into  an  arm-chair, 
fatigued  at  my  efforts  to  discover  dinner,  "when  I  re- 
member our  expectation,  and  the  pleasant  anticipations 
of  to-day,  I  feel  very  bitter,  Letitia.  Just  to  think  that 
from  it  all  nothing  has  resulted  but  that  beastly  mummy, 
that  atrocious  ossified  thing," 

"Archie,  Archie!"  said  my  wife  warningly;  "please  be 
calm.  Perhaps  I  was  too  engrossed  with  my  studies  to 
note  the  deficiencies  of  dinner.  But  do  remember  that  I 
pleaded  with  her  for  a  Swedish  meal.  The  poor  thing  did 
what  I  asked  her  to  do.  Our  dinner  was  evidently  Swe- 
dish. It  was  not  her  fault  that  I  asked  for  it.  To-morrow, 
dear,  it  shall  be  different.  We  had  better  stick  to  the 
American  regime.  It  is  more  satisfactory  to  you.  At  any 
rate,  we  have  somebody  in  the  house,  and  if  our  five  ad- 
vertisements had  brought  forth  five  hundred  applicants 
we  should  only  have  kept  one.  So  don't  torture  yourself, 
Archie.  Try  and  imagine  that  we  had  five  hundred  appli- 
cants, and  that  we  selected  Gerda  Lyberg." 

"I  can't,  Letitia,"  I  said  sulkily,  and  I  heaved  a  heavy 
sigh. 

"Come,"  she  said  soothingly,  "come  and  study  Swedish 
with  me.  It  will  be  most  useful  for  your  Lives  of  Great 
Men.  You  can  read  up  the  Swedes  in  the  original,  I'll 
entertain  you  with  this  book,  and  you'll  forget  all  about 
Mrs.  Potz — I  mean  Gerda  Lyberg.  By-the-by,  Archie, 
she  doesn't  remind  me  so  much  of  Hedda  Gabler.  I  don't 
fancy  that  she  is  very  subtile," 

"You,  Letitia,"  I  retorted,  "remind  me  of  Mrs.  Nickle- 
by.  You  ramble  on  so/' 

42 


ALAN   DALE 

Letitia  looked  offended.  She  always  declared  that 
Dickens  "got  on  her  nerves."  She  was  one  of  the  new- 
fashioned  readers  who  have  learned  to  despise  Dickens. 
Personally,  I  regretted  only  his  nauseating  sense  of  hu- 
mor. Letitia  placed  a  cushion  behind  my  head,  smoothed 
my  forehead,  kissed  me,  made  her  peace,  and  settled  down 
by  my  side.  Lack  of  nourishment  made  me  drowsy,  and 
Letitia's  babblings  sounded  vague  and  muffled. 

"It  is  a  most  inclusive  little  book,"  she  said,  "and 
if  I  can  succeed  in  memorizing  it  all  I  shall  be  quite  at 
home  with  the  language.  In  fact,  dear,  I  think  I  shall  al- 
ways keep  Swedish  cooks.  Hark  at  this:  *If  the  wind 
be  favorable,  we  shall  be  at  Gothenburg  in  forty  hours.' 
*0m  vinden  dr  god,  sa  aro  vi  pa  pyrtio  timmar  i  Gote- 
borg.'  1  think  it  is  sweetly  pretty.  'You  are  seasick.' 
'Steward,  bring  me  a  glass  of  brandy  and  water.'  'We 
are  now  entering  the  harbor.'  'We  are  now  anchoring.' 
'Your  passports,  gentlemen.' " 

A  comfortable  lethargy  was  stealing  o'er  me.  Le- 
titia took  a  pencil  and  paper,  and  made  notes  as  she  plied 
the  book.  "A  chapter  on  'seeing  a  town'  is  most  interest- 
ing, Archie.  Of  course,  it  must  be  a  Swedish  town.  'Do 
you  know  the  two  private  galleries  of  Mr.  Smith,  the  mer- 
chant, and  Mr.  Muller,  the  chancellor?'  'To-morrow 
morning  I  wish  to  see  all  the  public  buildings  and  statues.' 
*Statyerna'  is  Swedish  for  statues,  Archie.  Are  you  listen- 
ing, dear?  'We  will  visit  the  .Church  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
at  two,  then  we  will  make  an  excursion  on  Lake  Malan 
and  see  the  fortress  o£  Vaxholm.'  It  is  a  charming  little 
book.  Don't  you  think  that  it  is  a  great  improvement  on 
the  old  Ollendorff  system?  I  don't  find  nonsensical  sen- 
tences like  'The  hat  of  my  aunt's  sister  is  blue,  but  the  nose 
of  my  brother-in-law's  sister-in-law  is  red.'  " 

I  rose  and  stretched  myself.   Letitia  was  still  plunged 

43 


WANTED— A    COOK 

in  the  irritating  guide  to  Sweden,  where  I  vowed  I  would 
never  go.  Nothing  on  earth  should  ever  induce  me  to  visit 
Sweden.  If  it  came  to  a  choice  between  Hoboken  and 
Stockholm,  I  mentally  determined  to  select  the  former. 
As  I  paced  the  room  I  heard  a  curious  splashing  noise  in 
the  kitchen.  Letitia's  studies  must  have  dulled  her  ears. 
She  was  evidently  too  deeply  engrossed. 

I  strolled  nonchalantly  into  the  hall,  and  proceeded  de- 
liberately toward  the  kitchen.  The  thick  carpet  deadened 
my  footsteps.  The  splashing  noise  grew  louder.  The 
kitchen  door  was  closed.  I  gently  opened  it.  As  I  did  so 
a  wild  scream  rent  the  air.  There  stood  Gerda  Lyberg  in 
— in — my  pen  declines  to  write  it — a  simple  unsophisti- 
cated birthday  dress,  taking  an  ingenuous  reluctant  bath 
in  the  "stationary  tubs,"  with  the  plates,  and  dishes,  and 
dinner  things  grouped  artistically  around  her ! 

The  instant  she  saw  me  she  modestly  seized  a  dish- 
towel  and  shouted  at  the  top  of  her  voice.  The  kitchen 
was  filled  with  the  steam  from  the  hot  water.  'Venus 
arising'  looked  nebulous,  and  mystic.  I  beat  a  hasty  re- 
treat, aghast  at  the  revelation,  and  almost  fell  against 
Letitia,  who,  dropping  her  conversation  book,  came  to 
see  what  had  happened. 

"She's  bathing!"  I  gasped,  "in  the  kitchen — among  the 
plates — near  the  soup — " 

"Never!"  cried  Letitia.  Then,  melodramatically:  "Let 
me  pass.  Stand  aside,  Archie.  I'll  go  and  see.  Perhaps — 
perhaps — you  had  better  come  with  me." 

"Letitia,"  I  gurgled,  "I'm  shocked!  She  has  nothing 
on  but  a  dish-towel." 

Letitia  paused  irresolutely  for  a  second,  and  going  into 
the  kitchen  shut  the  door.  The  splashing  noise  ceased. 
I  heard  the  sound  of  voices,  or  rather  of  a  voice — Le- 
titia's!  Evidently  she  had  forgotten  Swedish,  and  such 

44 


ALAN    DALE 

remarks  as  "If  the  wind  be  favorable,  we  shall  be  at 
Gothenburg  in  forty  hours."  I  listened  attentively,  and 
could  not  even  hear  her  say  "We  will  visit  the  Church  of 
the  Holy  Ghost  at  two."  It  is  strange  how  the  stress  of 
circumstances  alters  the  complexion  of  a  conversation 
book !  All  the  evening  she  had  studied  Swedish,  and  yet 
suddenly  confronted  by  a  Swedish  lady  bathing  in  our 
kitchen,  dish-toweled  but  unashamed,  all  she  could  find  to 
say  was  "How  disgusting !"  and  "How  disgraceful !"  in 
English ! 

"You  see,"  said  Letitia,  when  she  emerged,  "she  is 
just  a  simple  peasant  girl,  and  only  needs  to  be  told.  It  is 
very  horrid,  of  course." 

"And  unappetizing!"  I  chimed  in. 

"Of  course — certainly  unappetizing.  I  couldn't  think 
of  anything  Swedish  to  say,  but  I  said  several  things  in 
English.  She  was  dreadfully  sorry  that  you  had  seen  her, 
and  never  contemplated  such  a  possibility.  After  all, 
Archie,  bathing  is  not  a  crime." 

"And  we  were  hunting  for  a  clean  slate,"  I  suggested 
satirically.  "Do  you  think,  Letitia,  that  she  also  takes  a 
cold  bath  in  the  morning,  among  the  bacon  and  eggs,  and 
things?" 

"That  is  enough,"  said  Letitia  sternly.  "The  episode 
need  not  serve  as  an  excuse  for  indelicacy." 

It  was  with  the  advent  of  Gerda  Lyberg  that  we  became 
absolutely  certain,  beyond  the  peradventure  of  any  doubt, 
that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  the  servant  question.  The 
knowledge  had  been  gradually  wafted  in  upon  us,  but  it 
was  not  until  the  lady  from  Stockholm  had  definitively 
planted  herself  in  our  midst  that  we  admitted  to  ourselves 
openly,  unblushingly,  that  the  problem  existed.  Gerda 
blazoned  forth  the  enigma  in  all  its  force  and  defiance. 

The  remarkable  thing  about  our  latest  acquisition  was 

45 


WANTED—A    COOK 

the  singularly  blank  state  of  her  gastronomic  mind. 
There  was  nothing  that  she  knew.  Most  women,  and  a 
great  many  men,  intuitively  recognize  the  physical  fact 
that  water,  at  a  ertain  temperature,  boils.  Miss  Lyberg, 
apparently  seeking  to  earn  her  living  in  the  kitchen,  had 
no  certain  views  as  to  when  the  boiling  point  was  reached. 
Rumors  seemed  vaguely  to  have  reached  her  that  things 
called  eggs  dropped  into  water  would,  in  the  course  of 
time — any  time,  and  generally  less  than  a  week — become 
eatable.  Letitia  bought  a  little  egg-boiler  for  her — one 
of  those  antique  arrangements  in  which  the  sands  of  time 
play  to  the  soft-boiled  egg.  The  maiden  promptly  boiled 
it  with  the  eggs,  and  undoubtedly  thought  that  the  hen, 
in  a  moment  of  perturbation,  or  aberration,  had  laid  it. 
I  say  "thought"  because  it  is  the  only  term  I  can  use.  It 
is,  perhaps,  inappropriate  in  connection  with  Gerda. 

Potatoes,  subjected  to  the  action  of  hot  water,  grow 
soft.  She  was  certain  of  that.  Whether  she  tested  them 
with  the  poker,  or  with  her  hands  or  feet,  we  never  knew. 
I  inclined  to  the  last  suggestion.  The  situation  was  quite 
marvelous.  Here  was  an  alleged  worker,  in  a  particular 
field,  asking  the  wages  of  skilled  labor,  and  densely  igno- 
rant of  every  detail  connected  with  her  task.  It  seemed 
unique.  Carpenters,  plumbers,  bricklayers,  seamstresses, 
dressmakers,  laundresses — all  the  sowers  and  reapers  in 
the  little  garden  of  our  daily  needs,  were  forced  by  the 
inexorable  law  of  competition  to  possess  some  inkling  of 
the  significance  of  their  undertakings.  With  the  cook  it 
was  different.  She  could  step  jubilantly  into  any  kitchen 
without  the  slightest  idea  of  what  she  was  expected  to  do 
there.  If  she  knew  that  water  was  wet  and  that  fire  was 
hot,  she  felt  amply  primed  to  demand  a  salary. 

Impelled  by  her  craving  for  Swedish  literature,  Le- 
titia struggled  with  Miss  Lyberg.    Compared  with  the 

46 


ALAN    DALE 

Swede,  my  exquisitely  ignorant  wife  was  a  culinary 
queen.  She  was  an  epicurean  caterer.  Letitia's  slate- 
pencil  coffee  was  ambrosia  for  the  gods,  sweetest  nectar, 
by  the  side  of  the  dishwater  that  cook  prepared.  I  began 
to  feel  quite  proud  of  her.  She  grew  to  be  an  adept  in  the 
art  of  boiling  water.  If  we  could  have  lived  on  that 
fluid,  everything  would  have  moved  clockworkily. 

"I've  discovered  one  thing,"  said  Letitia  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  third  day.  "The  girl  is  just  a  peasant,  probably 
a  worker  in  the  fields.   That  is  why  she  is  so  ignorant." 

I  thought  this  reasoning  foolish.  "Even  peasants  eat, 
my  dear,"  I  muttered.  "She  must  have  seen  somebody 
cook  something.  Field-workers  have  good  appetites.  If 
this  woman  ever  ate,  what  did  she  eat  and  why  can't  we 
have  the  same  ?  We  have  asked  her  for  no  luxuries.  We 
have  arrived  at  the  stage,  my  poor  girl,  when  all  we  need 
is,  prosaically,  to  'fill  up.'  You  have  given  her  opportu- 
nities to  offer  us  samples  of  peasant  food.  The  result  has 
been  nil." 

"It  is  odd,"  Letitia  declared,  a  wrinkle  of  perplexity 
appearing  in  the  smooth  surface  of  her  forehead.  "Of 
course,  she  says  she  doesn't  understand  me.  And  yet, 
Archie,  I  have  talked  to  her  in  pure  Swedish." 

"I  suppose  you  said,  'Pray  give  me  a  piece  of  venison/ 
from  the  conversation  book." 

"Don't  be  ridiculous,  Archie.  I  know  the  Swedish  for 
cauliflower,  green  peas,  spinach,  a  leg  of  mutton,  mustard, 
roast  meat,  soup,  and — " 

"  'If  the  wind  be  favorable,  we  shall  be  at  Gothen- 
burg in  forty  hours,'  "  I  interrupted.  She  was  silent,  and 
I  went  on :  "It  seems  a  pity  to  end  your  studies  in  Swe- 
dish, Letitia,  but  fascinating  though  they  be,  they  do  not 
really  necessitate  our  keeping  this  barbarian.  You  can 
always  pursue  them,  and  exercise  on  me.   I  don't  mind. 

47 


WANTED— A    COOK 

Even  with  an  American  cook,  if  such  a  being-  exist,  you 
could  still  continue  to  ask  for  venison  steak  in  Swedish, 
and  to  look  forward  to  arriving  at  Gothenburg  in  forty 
hours." 

Letitia  declined  to  argue.  My  mood  was  that  known  as 
cranky.  We  were  in  the  drawing-room,  after  what  we 
were  compelled  to  call  dinner.  It  had  consisted  of  steak 
burned  to  cinders,  potatoes  soaked  to  a  pulp,  and  a  rice 
pudding  that  looked  like  a  poultice  the  morning  after, 
and  possibly  tasted  like  one.  Letitia  had  been  shopping, 
and  was  therefore  unable  to  supervise.  Our  delicate  repast 
was  capped  by  "black"  coffee  of  an  indefinite  straw-color, 
and  with  globules  of  grease  on  the  surface.  People 
who  can  feel  elated  with  the  joy  of  living,  after  a  din- 
ner of  this  description,  are  assuredly  both  mentally  and 
morally  lacking.  Men  and  women  there  are  who  will  say : 
*'0h,  give  me  anything.  I'm  not  particular — so  long  as  it 
is  plain  and  wholesome."  I've  met  many  of  these  people. 
My  experience  of  them  is  that  they  are  the  greatest  glut- 
tons on  earth,  with  veritably  voracious  appetites,  and  that 
the  best  isn't  good  enough  for  them.  To  be  sure,  at  a 
pinch,  they  will  demolish  a  score  of  potatoes,  if  there  be 
nothing  else;  but  offer  them  caviare,  canvas-back  duck, 
quail,  and  nesselrode  pudding,  and  they  will  look  askance 
at  food  that  is  plain  and  wholesome.  The  "plain  and 
wholesome"  liver  is  a  snare  and  a  delusion,  like  the  "bluff 
and  genial"  visitor  whose  geniality  veils  all  sorts  of  satire 
and  merciless  comment. 

Letitia  and  I  both  felt  weak  and  miserable.  We  had 
made  up  our  minds  not  to  dine  out.  We  were  resolved 
to  keep  the  home  up,  even  if,  in  return,  the  home  kept  us 
down.  Give  in,  we  wouldn't.  Our  fighting  blood  was  up. 
We  firmly  determined  not  to  degenerate  into  that  clammy 
American  institution,  the  boarding-house  feeder  and  the 

48 


ALAN    DALE 

restaurant  diner.  We  knew  the  type;  in  the  feminine,  it 
sits  at  table  with  its  bonnet  on,  and  a  sullen  gnawing  ex- 
pression of  animal  hunger;  in  the  masculine,  it  puts  its 
own  knife  in  the  butter,  and  uses  a  toothpick.  No  cook — 
no  lack  of  cook — should  drive  us  to  these  abysmal  depths. 

Letitia  made  no  feint  at  Ovid.  I  simply  declined  to 
breathe  the  breath  of  The  Lives  of  Great  Men.  She  read 
a  sweet  little  classic  called  "The  Table;  How  to  Buy 
Food,  How  to  Cook  It,  and  How  to  Serve  It,"  by  Ales- 
sandro  Filippini — a  delightful  fable-d'hdte-y  name.  I  lay 
back  in  my  chair  and  frowned,  waiting  until  Letitia  chose 
to  break  the  silence.  As  she  was  a  most  chattily  inclined 
person  on  all  occasions,  I  reasoned  that  I  should  not  have 
to  wait  long.   I  was  right. 

"Archie,"  said  she,  "according  to  this  book,  there  is  no 
place  in  the  civilized  world  that  contains  so  large  a  num- 
ber of  so-called  high-livers  as  New  York  City,  which  was 
educated  by  the  famous  Delmonico  and  his  able  lieuten- 
ants." 

"Great  Heaven !"  I  exclaimed  with  a  groan,  "why  rub 
it  in,  Letitia  ?  I  should  also  say  that  no  city  in  the  world 
contained  so  large  a  number  of  low-livers." 

"  'Westward  the  course  of  Empire  sways,'  "  she  read, 
"  'and  the  great  glory  of  the  past  has  departed  from  those 
centers  where  the  culinary  art  at  one  time  defied  all  rivals. 
The  scepter  of  supremacy  has  passed  into  the  hands  of 
the  metropolis  of  the  New  World.'  " 

"What  sickening  cant !"  I  cried.  "What  fiendishly  ex- 
aggerated restaurant  talk !  There  are  perhaps  fifty  fine 
restaurants  in  New  York.  In  Paris  there  are  five  hundred 
finer.  Here  we  have  places  to  eat  in;  there  they  have 
artistic  resorts  to  dine  in.  One  can  dine  anywhere  in 
Paris.  In  New  York,  save  for  those  fifty  fine  restaurants, 
one  feeds.  Don't  read  any  more  of  your  cook-book  to  me, 

49 


WANTED— A    COOK 

my  girl.   It  is  written  to  catch  the  American  trade,  with 
the  subtile  pen  of  flattery." 

"Try  and  be  patriotic,  dear,"  she  said  soothingly.  "Of 
course,  I  know  you  wouldn't  allow  a  Frenchman  to  say  all 
that,  and  that  you  are  just  talking  cussedly  with  your 
own  wife." 

A  ring  at  the  bell  caused  a  diversion.  We  hailed  it. 
We  were  in  the  humor  to  hail  anything.  The  domestic 
hearth  was  most  trying.  We  were  bored  to  death.  I 
sprang  up  and  ran  to  the  door,  a  little  pastime  to  which 
I  was  growing  accustomed.  Three  tittering  young 
women,  each  wearing  a  hat  in  which  roses,  violets,  pop- 
pies, cornflowers,  forget-me-nots,  feathers  and  ribbons 
ran  riot,  confronted  me. 

"Miss  Gerda  Lyberg?"  said  the  foremost,  who  wore 
a  bright  red  gown,  and  from  whose  hat  six  spiteful  pop- 
pies lurched  forward  and  almost  hit  me  in  the  face. 

For  a  moment,  dazed  from  the  cook-book,  I  was  non- 
plussed. All  I  could  say  was  "No,"  meaning  that  I  wasn't 
Miss  Gerda  Lyberg.  I  felt  so  sure  that  I  wasn't  that  I 
was  about  to  close  the  door. 

"She  lives  here,  I  believe,"  asserted  the  damsel,  again 
shooting  forth  the  poppies. 

I  came  to  myself  with  an  effort.  "She  is  the — the 
cook,"  I  muttered  weakly. 

"We  are  her  friends,"  quoth  the  damsel,  an  indignant 
inflection  in  her  voice.  "Kindly  let  us  in.  We've  come  to 
the  Thursday  sociable." 

The  three  bedizened  ladies  entered  without  further 
parley  and  went  toward  the  kitchen,  instinctively  recog- 
nizing its  direction.  I  was  amazed.  I  heard  a  noisy  greet- 
ing, a  peal  of  laughter,  a  confusion  of  tongues,  and  then — 
I  groped  my  way  back  to  Letitia. 

"They've  come  to  the  Thursday  sociable !"  I  cried. 

50 


ALAN   DALE 

"Who  ?"  she  asked  in  astonishment,  and  I  imparted  to 
her  the  full  extent  of  my  knowledge.  Letitia  took  it  very 
nicely.  She  had  always  heard,  she  said,  in  fact  Mrs.  Ar- 
cher had  told  her,  that  Thursday  nights  were  festival 
occasions  with  the  Swedes.  She  thought  it  rather  a  pleas- 
ant and  convivial  notion.  Servants  must  enjoy  them- 
selves, after  all.  Better  a  happy  gathering  of  girls  than 
a  rowdy  collection  of  men.  Letitia  thought  the  idea  felic- 
itous. She  had  no  objections  to  giving  privileges  to  a 
cook.  Nor  had  I,  for  the  matter  of  that.  I  ventured  to 
remark,  however,  that  Gerda  didn't  seem  to  be  a  cook. 

"Then  let  us  call  her  a  *girl,'  "  said  Letitia. 

"Gerda  is  a  girl,  only  because  she  isn't  a  boy,"  I  re- 
marked tauntingly.  "If  by  'girl'  you  even  mean  servant, 
then  Gerda  isn't  a  girl.  Goodness  knows  what  she  is. 
Hello !  Another  ring !" 

This  time  Miss  Lyberg  herself  went  to  the  door,  and 
we  listened.  More  arrivals  for  the  sociable ;  four  Swedish 
guests,  all  equally  gaily  attired  in  flower  hats.  Some  of 
them  wore  bangles,  the  noise  of  which,  in  the  hall, 
sounded  like  an  infuriation  of  sleigh-bells.  They  were 
Christina  and  Sophie  and  Sadie  and  Alexandra — as  we 
soon  learned.  It  was  wonderful  how  welcome  Gerda 
made  them,  and  how  quickly  they  were  "at  home."  They 
rustled  through  the  halls,  chatting  and  laughing  and  hum- 
ming. Such  merry  girls !  Such  light-hearted  little  charm- 
ers !  Letitia  stood  looking  at  them  through  the  crack  of 
the  drawing-room  door.  Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  that 
somebody  should  have  a  good  time  in  our  house. 

"Just  the  same,  Letitia,"  I  observed,  galled,  "I  think 
I  should  say  to-morrow  that  this  invasion  is  most  im- 
pertinent— most  uncalled  for." 

"Yes,  Archie,"  said  Letitia  demurely,  "you  think  you 
should  say  it.   But  please  don't  think  /  shall,  for  I  assure 

SI 


WANTED—A    COOK 

you  that  I  shan't.  I  suppose  that  we  must  discharge  her. 
She  can't  do  anything  and  she  doesn't  want  to  learn.  I 
don't  blame  her.  She  can  always  get  the  wages  she  asks, 
by  doing  nothing.  You  would  pursue  a  similar  policy, 
Archie,  if  it  were  possible.  Everybody  would.  But  all 
other  "laborers  must  know  how  to  labor," 

I  was  glad  to  hear  Letitia  echoing  my  sentiments.  She 
was  quite  unconsciously  plagiarizing.  Once  again  she 
took  up  the  cook-book.  The  sound  of  merrymaking  in 
the  kitchen  drifted  in  upon  us.  From  what  we  could 
gather,  Gerda  seemed  to  be  "dressing  up"  for  the  delecta- 
tion of  her  guests.  Shrieks  of  laughter  and  clapping  of 
hands  made  us  wince.  My  nerves  were  on  edge.  Had  any 
one  at  that  moment  dared  to  suggest  that  there  was  even 
a  suspicion  of  humor  in  these  proceedings  I  should  have 
slain  him  without  compunction,  Letitia  was  less  irate 
and  tried  to  comfort  me, 

Letitia  sighed,  and  shut  up  the  cook-book.  Eggs  a  la 
reine  seemed  as  difficult  as  trigonometry,  or  conic  sec- 
tions, or  differential  calculus — and  much  more  expensive. 
Certainly  the  eight  giggling  cooks  in  the  kitchen,  now  at 
the  very  height  of  their  exhilaration,  worried  themselves 
little  about  such  concoctions.  My  nerves  again  began  to 
play  pranks.  The  devilish  pandemonium  infuriated  me, 
Letitia  was  tired  and  wanted  to  go  to  bed.  I  was  tired 
and  hungry  and  disillusioned.  It  was  close  upon  midnight 
and  the  Swedish  Thursday  was  about  over.  I  thought  it 
unwise  to  allow  them  even  an  initial  minute  of  Friday. 
When  the  clock  struck  twelve,  I  marched  majestically 
to  the  kitchen,  threw  open  the  door,  revealed  the  octette 
in  the  enjoyment  of  a  mound  of  ice-cream  and  a  mountain 
of  cake — that  in  my  famished  condition  made  my  mouth 
water — and  announced  in  a  severe,  yet  subdued  tone,  that 
the  revel  must  cease. 

52 


ALAN    DALE 

"You  must  go  at  once,"  I  said,  "I  am  going  to  shut  up 
the  house." 

Then  I  withdrew  and  waited.  There  was  a  delay,  dur- 
ing which  a  Babel  of  tongues  was  let  loose,  and  then  Miss 
Lyberg's  seven  guests  were  heard  noisily  leaving  the 
house.  Two  minutes  later,  there  was  a  knock  at  our  door 
and  Miss  Lyberg  appeared,  her  eyes  blazing,  her  face 
flushed  and  the  expression  of  the  hunted  antelope  defiantly 
asserting  that  it  would  never  be  brought  to  bay,  on  her 
perspiring  features. 

"You've  insulted  my  guests !"  she  cried,  in  English  as 
good  as  my  own.  "I've  had  to  turn  them  out  of  the  house, 
and  I've  had  about  enough  of  this  place." 

Letitia's  face  was  a  psychological  study.  Amazement, 
consternation,  humiliation — all  seemed  determined  to  pos- 
sess her.  Here  was  the  obtuse  Swede,  for  whose  dear 
sake  she  had  dallied  with  the  intricacies  of  the  language 
of  Stockholm,  furiously  familiar  with  admirable  Eng- 
lish! The  dense,  dumb  Scandinavian — the  lady  of  the 
"me  no  understand"  rejoinder — apparently  had  the  "gift 
of  tongues."  Letitia  trembled.  Rarely  have  I  seen  her  so 
thoroughly  perturbed.  Yet  seemingly  she  was  unwilling 
to  credit  the  testimony  of  her  own  ears,  for  with  sudden 
energy,  she  confronted  Miss  Lyberg,  and  exclaimed  im- 
periously, in  Swedish  that  was  either  pure  or  impure: 
"Tig.  Ga  din  vdg!" 

"Ah,  come  off!"  cried  the  handmaiden  insolently.  "I 
understand  English.  I  haven't  been  in  this  country  fifteen 
years  for  nothing.  It's  just  on  account  of  folks  like  you 
that  poor  hard-working  girls,  who  ain't  allowed  to  take  no 
baths  or  entertain  no  lady  friends,  have  to  protect  them- 
selves. Pretend  not  to  understand  them,  says  I.  I've 
found  it  worked  before  this.  If  they  think  you  don't  un- 
derstand 'em,  they'll  let  you  alone  and  stop  worriting. 

53 


WANTED— A   COOK 

It's  lil<e  your  impidence  to  turn  my  lady-friends  out  of 
this  flat.    It's  like  your  impidence.  I'll — " 

Letitia's  crestfallen  look,  following  upon  her  perturba- 
tion, completely  upset  me.  A  wave  of  indignation 
swamped  me.  I  advanced,  and  in  another  minute  Miss 
Gerda  Lyberg  would  have  found  herself  in  the  hall,  im- 
pelled there  by  a  persuasive  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 
However,  it  was  not  to  be. 

"You  just  lay  a  hand  on  me,"  she  said  with  cold  de- 
liberation, and  a  smile,  "and  I'll  have  you  arrested  for 
assault.  Oh,  I  know  the  law.  I  haven't  been  in  this  coun- 
try fifteen  years  for  nothing.  The  law  looks  after  poor 
weak,  Swedish  girls.  Just  push  me  out.  It's  all  I  ask. 
Just  you  push  me  out." 

She  edged  up  to  me  defiantly.  My  blood  boiled.  I 
would  have  mortgaged  the  prospects  of  my  Lives  of  Great 
Men  (not  that  they  were  worth  mortgaging)  for  the  ex- 
quisite satisfaction  of  confounding  this  abominable  wom- 
an. Then  I  saw  the  peril  of  the  situation.  I  thought  of 
horrid  headliners  in  the  papers:  "Author  charged  with 
abusing  servant  girl,"  or,  "Arrest  of  Archibald  Fairfax 
on  serious  charge,"  and  my  mood  changed. 

"I  understood  you  all  the  time,"  continued  Miss  Ly- 
berg insultingly.  "I  listened  to  you.  I  knew  what  you 
thought  of  me.  Now  I'm  telling  you  what  I  think  of  you. 
The  idea  of  turning  out  my  lady-friends,  on  a  Thursday 
night,  too!  And  me  a-slaving  for  them,  and  a-bathing 
for  them,  and  a-treating  them  to  ice  cream  and  cake,  and 
in  me  own  kitchen.  You  ain't  no  lady.  As  for  you" — I 
seemed  to  be  her  particular  pet — "when  I  sees  a  man 
around  the  house  all  the  time,  a-molly-coddling  and  a- 
fussing,  I  says  to  myself,  he  ain't  much  good  if  he  can't 
trust  the  women  folk  alone." 

We  stood  there  like  dummies,  listening  to  the  tirade. 

54 


ALAN    DALE 

What  could  we  'do  ?  To  be  sure,  there  were  two  of  us,  and 
we  were  in  our  own  house.  The  antagonist,  however,  was 
a  servant,  not  in  her  own  house.  The  situation,  for  rea- 
sons that  it  is  impossible  to  define,  was  hers.  She  knew 
it,  too.  We  allowed  her  full  sway,  because  we  couldn't 
help  it.  The  sympathy  of  the  public,  in  case  of  violent 
measures,  would  not  have  been  on  our  side.  The  poor 
domestic,  oppressed  and  enslaved,  would  have  appealed  to 
any  jury  of  married  men,  living  luxuriously  in  cheap 
boarding-houses ! 

When  she  left  us,  as  she  did  when  she  was  completely 
ready  to  do  so,  Letitia  began  to  cry.  The  sight  of  her 
tears  unnerved  me,  and  I  checked  a  most  unfeeling  re- 
mark that  I  intended  to  make  to  the  effect  that,  "if  the 
wind  be  favorable,  we  shall  be  at  Gothenburg  in  forty 
hours." 

"It's  not  that  I  mind  her  insolence,"  she  sobbed,  "we 
were  going  to  send  her  off  anyway,  weren't  we  ?  But  it's 
so  humiliating  to  be  'done.'  We've  been  'done.'  Here 
have  I  been  working  hard  at  Swedish — writing  exercises, 
learning  verbs,  studying  proverbs — just  to  talk  to  a 
woman  who  speaks  English  as  well  as  I  do.  It's — it's — so 
— so — mor — mortifying." 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  I  said,  drying  her  eyes  for  her; 
"the  Swedish  will  come  in  handy  some  day." 

"No,"  she  declared  vehemently,  "don't  say  that  you'll 
take  me  to  Sweden.  I  wouldn't  go  to  the  hateful  country. 
It's  a  hideous  language,  anyway,  isn't  it,  Archie?  It  is  a 
nasty,  laconic,  ugly  tongue.  You  heard  me  say  Tig  to  her 
just  now.  Tig  means  'be  silent.'  Could  anything  sound 
more  repulsive ?  Tig!  Tig!  Ugh!" 

Letitia  stamped  her  foot.   She  was  exceeding  wroth. 


SB 


SIMILAR  CASES 

BY   CHARLOTTE   PERKINS   OILMAN 

There  was  once  a  little  animal, 

No  bigger  than  a  fox, 
And  on  five  toes  he  scampered 

Over  Tertiary  rocks. 
They  called  him  Eohippus, 

And  they  called  him  very  small, 
And  they  thought  him  of  no  value — 

When  they  thought  of  him  at  all ; 
For  the  lumpish  old  Dinoceras 

And  Coryphodon  so  slow 
Were  the  heavy  aristocracy 

In  days  of  long  ago. 

Said  the  little  Eohippus, 

*T  am  going  to  be  a  horse! 
And  on  my  middle  finger-nails 

To  run  my  earthly  course ! 
I'm  going  to  have  a  flowing  tail ! 

I'm  going  to  have  a  mane! 
I'm  going  to  stand  fourteen  hands  high 

On  the  psychozoic  plain !" 

The  Coryphodon  was  horrified, 
The  Dinoceras  was  shocked ; 

And  they  chased  young  Eohippus, 
But  he  skipped  away  and  mocked ; 
56 


CHARLOTTE    PERKINS    GILMAN 

Then  they  laughed  enormous  laughter, 

And  they  groaned  enormous  groans, 
And  they  bade  young  Eohippus 

Go  view  his  father's  bones : 
Said  they,  "You  always  were  as  small 

And  mean  as  now  we  see. 
And  that's  conclusive  evidence 

That  you're  always  going  to  be: 
What !    Be  a  great,  tall,  handsome  beast. 

With  hoofs  to  gallop  on  ? 
Why,  you'd  have  to  change  your  nature!' 

Said  the  Loxolophodon : 
They  considered  him  disposed  of, 

And  retired  with  gait  serene ; 
That  was  the  way  they  argued 

In  "the  early  Eocene." 

There  was  once  an  Anthropoidal  Ape, 

Far  smarter  than  the  rest. 
And  everything  that  they  could  do 

He  always  did  the  best ; 
So  they  naturally  disliked  him. 

And  they  gave  him  shoulders  cool, 
And  when  they  had  to  mention  him 

They  said  he  was  a  fool. 

Cried  this  pretentious  Ape  one  day, 

"I'm  going  to  be  a  Man! 
And  stand  upright,  and  hunt,  and  fight, 

And  conquer  all  I  can! 
I'm  going  to  cut  down  forest  trees, 

To  make  my  houses  higher ! 
I'm  going  to  kill  the  Mastodon! 

I'm  going  to  make  a  fire !" 
57 


SIMILAR    CASES 

Loud  screamed  the  Anthropoidal  Apes, 

With  laughter  wild  and  gay; 
They  tried  to  catch  that  boastful  one. 

But  he  always  got  away; 
So  they  yelled  at  him  in  chorus, 

Which  he  minded  not  a  whit; 
And  they  pelted  him  with  cocoanuts. 

Which  didn't  seem  to  hit; 
And  then  they  gave  him  reasons, 

Which  they  thought  of  much  avail, 
To  prove  how  his  preposterous 

Attempt  was  sure  to  fail. 

Said  the  sages,  "In  the  first  place, 

The  thing  can  not  be  done! 
And,  second,  if  it  could  be. 

It  would  not  be  any  fun! 
And,  third,  and  most  conclusive 

And  admitting  no  reply, 
You  would  have  to  change  your  nature! 

We  should  like  to  see  you  try  1" 
They  chuckled  then  triumphantly, 

These  lean  and  hairy  shapes, 
For  these  things  passed  as  arguments 

With  the  Anthropoidal  Apes. 

There  was  once  a  Neolithic  Man, 

An  enterprising  wight, 
Who  made  his  chopping  implements 

Unusually  bright ; 
Unusually  clever  he. 

Unusually  brave, 
And  he  drew  delightful  Mammoths 

On  the  borders  of  his  cave. 
58 


CHARLOTTE    PERKINS    OILMAN 

To  his  Neolithic  neighbors, 

Who  were  startled  and  surprised, 
Said  he,  "My  friends,  in  course  of  time, 

We  shall  be  civilized ! 
We  are  going  to  live  in  cities ! 

We  are  going  to  fight  in  wars ! 
We  are  going  to  eat  three  times  a  day 

Without  the  natural  cause! 
We  are  going  to  turn  life  upside  down 

About  a  thing  called  gold ! 
We  are  going  to  want  the  earth,  and  take 

As  much  as  we  can  hold ! 
We  are  going  to  wear  great  piles  of  stuff 

Outside  our  proper  skins! 
We  are  going  to  have  Diseases ! 

And  Accomplishments  ! !   And  Sins ! ! ! 

Then  they  all  rose  up  in  fury 

Against  their  boastful  friend, 
For  prehistoric  patience 

Cometh  quickly  to  an  end : 
Said  one,  "This  is  chimerical! 

Utopian!  Absurd!" 
Said  another,  "What  a  stupid  life! 

Too  dull,  upon  my  word !" 
Cried  all,  "Before  such  things  can  come, 

You  idiotic  child, 
You  must  alter  Human  Nature!" 

And  they  all  sat  back  and  smiled : 
Thought  they,  "An  answer  to  that  last* 

It  will  be  hard  to  find !" 
It  was  a  clinching  argument 

To  the  Neolithic  Mind ! 


59 


THE  OLD  MAID'S  HOUSE:    IN  PLAN 

BY    ELIZABETH    STUART    PHELPS 

Corona  had  five  hundred  dollars  and  some  pluck  for  her 
enterprise.  She  had  also  at  her  command  a  trifle  for  fur- 
nishing. But  that  seemed  very  small  capital.  Her  friends 
at  large  discouraged  her  generously.  Even  Tom  said  he 
didn't  know  about  that,  and  offered  her  three  hundred 
more. 

This  manly  offer  she  declined  in  a  womanly  manner. 

"It  is  to  be  my  house,  thank  you,  Tom,  dear.  I  can  live 
in  yours  at  home,"     .     .     . 

Corona's  architectural  library  was  small.  She  found 
on  the  top  shelf  one  book  on  the  construction  of  chicken- 
roosts,  a  pamphlet  in  explanation  of  the  kindergarten 
system,  a  cook-book  that  had  belonged  to  her  grand- 
mother, and  a  treatise  on  crochet.  There  her  domestic 
literature  came  to  an  end.  She  accordingly  bought  a  book 
entitled  "North  American  Homes" ;  then,  having,  in 
addition,  begged  or  borrowed  everything  within  two 
covers  relating  to  architecture  that  was  to  be  found  in  her 
immediate  circle  of  acquaintance,  she  plunged  into  that 
unfamiliar  science  with  hopeful  zeal.  *- 

The  result  of  her  studies  was  a  mixed  one.  It  was 
necessary,  it  seemed,  to  construct  the  North  American 
home  in  so  many  contradictory  methods,  or  else  fail  for- 
ever of  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  that 
Corona  felt  herself  to  be  laboring  under  a  chronic  aberra- 

60 


ELIZABETH    STUART   PHELPS 

tion  of  mind.  .  .  .  Then  the  plans.  Well,  the  plans, 
it  must  be  confessed,  Corona  did  find  it  difficult  to  under- 
stand. She  always  had  found  it  difficult  to  understand 
such  things ;  but  then  she  had  hoped  several  weeks  of  close 
architectural  study  would  shed  light  upon  the  density  of 
the  subject.  She  grew  quite  morbid  about  it.  She  counted 
the  steps  when  she  went  up-stairs  to  bed  at  night.  She 
estimated  the  bedroom  post  when  she  walked  in  the  cold 
gray  dawn 

But  the  most  perplexing  thing  about  the  plans  was  how 
one  story  ever  got  upon  another.  Corona's  imagination 
never  fully  grappled  with  this  fact,  although  her  intellect 
accepted  it.  She  took  her  books  down-stairs  one  night, 
and  Susy  came  and  looked  them  over. 

"Why,  these  houses  are  all  one-story,"  said  Susy.  "Be- 
sides, they  're  nothing  but  lines,  anyway.  I  should  n't 
draw  a  house  so." 

Corona  laughed  with  some  embarrassment  and  no  ef- 
fort at  enlightenment.  She  was  not  used  to  finding  her- 
self and  Susy  so  nearly  on  the  same  intellectual  level  as  in 
this  instance.  She  merely  asked  :  "How  should  you  draw 
it?" 

"Why,  so,"  said  Susy,  after  some  severe  thought.  So 
she  took  her  little  blunt  lead  pencil,  that  the  baby  had 
chewed,  and  drew  her  plan  as  follows : 

Susy's  plan 


y        Hoor        \ 

.  Ouesi 
Xoom 

Clofet 
ttt 

Our 
Room 

Twior-. 

1 
1 

Dining 
'  Boom. 

KItcben 
Ell 

liune^'ancl  yonrrpombobinU. 

6i 


THE  OLD   MAID'S   HOUSE:   IN   PLAN 

Corona  made  no  comment  upon  this  plan,  except  to  ask 
Susy  if  that  were  the  way  to  spell  L;  and  then  to  look  in 
the  dictionary,  and  find  that  it  was  not  spelled  at  all.  Tom 
came  in,  and  asked  to  see  what  they  were  doing. 

"I'm  helping  Corona,"  said  Susy,  with  much  com- 
placency. "These  architects'  things  don't  look  any  more 
like  houses  than  they  do  like  the  first  proposition  in 
Euclid ;  and  the  poor  girl  is  puzzled." 

"I'll  help  you  to-morrow,  Co,"  said  Tom,  who  was  in 
too  much  of  a  hurry  to  glance  at  his  wife's  plan.  But  to- 
morrow Tom  went  into  town  by  the  early  train,  and  when 
Corona  emerged  from  her  "North  American  Homes," 
with  wild  eye  and  knotted  brow,  at  5  o'clock  p.  m.,  she 
found  Susy  crying  over  a  telegram  which  ran : 

Called  to  California  immediately.  Those  lost  cargoes 
A  No.  I  hides  turned  up.  Can't  get  home  to  say  good-by. 
Send  overcoat  and  flannels  by  Simpson  on  midnight  ex- 
press. Gone  four  weeks.  Love  to  all.  Tom. 

This  unexpected  event  threw  Corona  entirely  upon  her 
own  resources ;  and,  after  a  few  days  more  of  patient  re- 
search, she  put  on  her  hat,  and  stole  away  at  dusk  to  a 
builder  she  knew  of  down-town — a  nice,  fatherly  man 
who  had  once  built  a  piazza  for  Tom  and  had  just  been 
elected  superintendent  of  the  Sunday-school.  These  com- 
bined facts  gave  Corona  confidence  to  trust  her  case  to 
his  hands.  She  carried  a  neat  little  plan  of  her  own  with 
her,  the  result  of  several  days'  hard  labor.  Susy's  plan 
she  had  taken  the  precaution  to  cut  into  paper  dolls  for 
the  baby.  Corona  found  the  good  man  at  home,  and  in 
her  most  business-like  manner  presented  her  points. 

"Got  any  plan  in  yer  own  head?"  asked  the  builder, 
hearing  her  in  silence.  In  silence  Corona  laid  before  him 
the  paper  which  had  cost  her  so  much  toil. 

62 


ELIZABETH    STUART    PHELPS 
It  was  headed  in  her  clear  black  hand : 
PLAN 

FOR   A   SMALL  BUT    HAPPY 
HOME 


!i:iusjBf4S) 


Hack  Door.      ■ 


W        Vibniry 


/  ^■ 


\y 


\./ 


JCitcheO", 
Doof  ,■ 


Dtaiiig  Eoom."    << 


i 

1 

Kroui  Dooi. 

»eco>n  FLOt'B 

" 

■»             '  K 

r 

Bedrqom' 

\ 

/  "  'I^Oroot*        w 

w 

bedtooQ. 

/ 

Sj^t' Btdfoom     .* 

^■•r 

*> 

"Well,"  said  the  builder,  after  a  silence,— "well,  I've 
seen  worse." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Corona,  faintly. 

"How  does  she  set?"  asked  the  builder. 

"Who  set?"  said  Corona,  a  little  wildly.    She  could 
think  of  nothing  that  set  but  hens. 

"Why,  the  house.    Where's  the  points  o'  compass?" 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  those,"  said  Corona. 

63 


THE   OLD   MAID'S    HOUSE;   IN    PLAN 

"And  the  chimney,"  suggested  the  builder.  "Where's 
your  chimneys  ?" 

"I  didn't  put  in  any  chimneys,"  said  Corona. 

"Where  did  you  count  on  your  stairs?"  pursued  the 
builder. 

"Stairs  ?  I — forgot  the  stairs." 

"That's  natural,"  said  Mr.  Timbers.  "Had  a  plan 
brought  me  once  without  an  entry  pr  a  window  to  it.  It 
wasn't  a  woman  did  it,  neither.  It  was  a  widower,  in  the 
noospaper  line.   What's  your  scale?" 

"Scale?"  asked  Corona,  without  animation. 

"Scale  of  feet.  Proportions." 

"Oh !  I  didn't  have  any  scales,  but  I  thought  about 
forty  feet  front  would  do.  I  have  but  five  hundred  dol- 
lars.   A  small  house  must  answer." 

The  builder  smiled.  He  said  he  would  show  her  some 
plans.  He  took  a  book  from  his  table  and  opened  at  a 
plate  representing  a  small,  snug  cottage,  not  uncomely. 
It  stood  in  a  flourishing  apple-orchard,  and  a  much  larger 
house  appeared  dimly  in  the  distance,  upon  a  hill.  The 
The  cottage  was  what  is  called  a  "story-and-half"  and 
contained  six  rooms.  The  plan  was  drawn  with  the 
beauty  of  science. 

"There,"  said  Mr.  Timbers,  "I  know  a  lady  built  one 
of  those  upon  her  brother-in-law's  land.  He  give  her  the 
land,  and  she  just  put  up  the  cottage,  and  they  was  all 
as  pleasant  as  pease  about  it.  That's  about  what  I'd  rec- 
ommend to  you,  if  you  don't  object  to  the  name  of  it." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  the  name?"  asked  Corona. 

"Why,"  said  the  builder,  hesitating,  "it  is  called  the 
Old  Maid's  House — in  the  book." 

"Mr.  Timbers,"  said  Corona,  with  decision,  "why 
should  we  seek  further  than  the  truth  ?  I  will  have  that 
house.  Pray,  draw  me  the  plan  at  once." 

64 


DISTICHS 

BY   JOHN    HAY 


Wisely  a  woman  prefers  to  a  lover  a  man  who  neglects 

her. 
This  one  may  love  her  some  day,  some  day  the  lover  will 

not. 

II 

There  are  three  species  of  creatures  who  when  they  seem 

coming  are  going, 
When  they  seem  going  they  come :  Diplomates,  women, 

and  crabs. 

Ill 

Pleasures  too  hastily  tasted  grow  sweeter  in  fond  recol- 
lection, 
As  the  pomegranate  plucked  green  ripens  far  over  the 

sea. 

IV 

As  the  meek  beasts  in  the  Garden  came  flocking  for  Adam 

to  name  them, 
Men  for  a  title  to-day  crawl  to  the  feet  of  a  king. 

65 


DISTICHS 

V 

What  is  a  first  love  worth,  except  to  prepare  for  a  second  ? 
What  does  the  second  love  bring?     Only  regret  for  the 
first. 

VI 

Health  was  wooed  by  the  Romans  in  groves  of  the  laurel 

and  myrtle. 
Happy  and  long  are  the  lives  brightened  by  glory  and 

love. 

vn 

Wine  is  like  rain :  when  it  falls  on  the  mire  it  but  makes 

it  the  fouler, 
But  when  it  strikes  the  good  soil  wakes  it  to  beauty  and 

bloom. 

VIII 

Break  not  the  rose;  its  fragrance  and  beauty  are  surely 

sufficient : 
Resting  contented  with  these,  never  a  thorn  shall  you  feel. 

IX 

When  you  break  up  housekeeping,  you  learn  the  extent 

of  your  treasures ; 
Till  he  begins  to  reform,  no  one  can  number  his  sins. 

X 

Maidens !  why  should  you  worry  in  choosing  whom  you 
shall  marry  ? 

Choose  whom  you  may,  you  will  find  you  have  got  some- 
body else. 

66 


JOHN    HAY 

XI  • 

Unto  each  man  comes  a  day  when  his  favorite  sins  all  for- 
sake him, 
And  he  complacently  thinks  he  has  forsaken  his  sins. 

XII 

Be  not  too  anxious  to  gain  your  next-door  neighbor's  ap- 
proval : 

Live  your  own  life,  and  let  him  strive  your  approval  to 
gain. 

XIII 

Who  would  succeed  in  the  world  should  be  wise  in  the 

use  of  his  pronouns. 
Utter  the  You  twenty  times,  where  you  once  utter  the  I. 

XIV 

The  best-loved  man  or  maid  in  the  town  would  perish 

with  anguish 
Could  they  hear  all  that  their  friends  say  in  the  course  of 

a  day. 

XV 

True  luck  consists  not  in  holding  the  best  of  the  cards  at 

the  table : 
Luckiest  he  who  knows  just  when  to  rise  and  go  home. 

XVI 

Pleasant  enough  it  is  to  hear  the  world  speak  of  your  vir- 
tues; 
But  in  your  secret  heart  'tis  of  your  faults  you  are  proud. 

67 


DISTICHS 
XVII 

Try  not  to  beat  back  the  current,  yet  be  not  drowned  in 

its  waters ; 
Speak  with  the  speech  of  the  world,   think  with  the 

thoughts  of  the  few. 

XVIII 

Make  all  good  men  your  well-wishers,  and  then,  in  the 

years'  steady  sifting, 
Some  of  them  turn  into  friends.   Friends  are  the  sunshine 

of  life. 


THE  QUARREL 

BY    S.    E.    RISER 

"There  are  quite  as  good  fish 
In  the  sea 
As  any  one  ever  has  caught," 
Said  he. 
"But  few  of  the  fish- 
In  the  sea 
Will  bite  at  such  bait  as  you've  got," 
Said  she. 
To-day  he  is  gray,  and  his  line's  put  away. 

But  he  often  looks  back  with  regret ; 
She's  still  "in  the  sea,"  and  how  happy 
she'd  be 
If  he  were  a  fisherman  yet ! 


68 


A  LETTER  FROM  MR.  BIGGS 

BY   E.    W.    HOWE 

My  Dear  Sir — Occasionally  a  gem  occurs  to  me  which 
I  am  unable  to  favor  you  with  because  of  late  we  are 
not  much  together.  Appreciating  the  keen  delight  with 
which  you  have  been  kind  enough  to  receive  my  philoso- 
phy, I  take  the  liberty  of  sending  herewith  a  number  of 
ideas  which  may  please  and  benefit  you,  and  which  I  have 
divided  into  paragraphs  with  headings. 

HAPPINESS 

I  have  observed  that  happiness  and  brains  seldom  go 
together.  The  pin-headed  woman  who  regards  her  thin- 
witted  husband  as  the  greatest  man  in  the  world,  is  happy, 
and  much  good  may  it  do  her.  In  such  cases  ignorance 
is  a  positive  blessing,  for  good  sense  would  cause  the 
woman  to  realize  her  distressed  condition.  A  man  who 
can  think  he  is  as  "good  as  anybody"  is  happy.  The  fact 
may  be  notorious  that  the  man  is  not  so  "good  as  any- 
body" until  he  is  as  industrious,  as  educated,  and  as  re- 
fined as  anybody,  but  he  has  not  brains  enough  to  know 
this,  and,  content  with  conceit,  is  happy.  A  man  with  a 
brain  large  enough  to  understand  mankind  is  always 
wretched  and  ashamed  of  himself. 

REPUTATION 

Reputation  is  not  always  desirable.    The  only  thing  I 

69 


A   LETTER    FROM    MR.    BIGGS 

have  ever  heard  said  in  Twin  Mounds  concerning  Smoky 
Hill  is  that  good  hired  girls  may  be  had  there. 

WOMEN 

1.  Most  women  seem  to  love  for  no  other  reason  than 
that  it  is  expected  of  them. 

2.  I  know  too  much  about  women  to  honor  them  more 
than  they  deserve;  in  fact  I  know  all  about  them.  I 
visited  a  place  once  where  doctors  are  made,  and  saw 
them  cut  up  one. 

3.  A  woman  loses  her  power  when  she  allows  a  man  to 
find  out  all  there  is  to  her ;  I  mean  by  this  that  familiarity 
breeds  contempt.  I  knew  a  young  man  once  who  worked 
beside  a  woman  in  an  office,  and  he  never  married. 

4.  If  men  would  only  tell  what  they  actually  know 
about  women,  instead  of  what  they  believe  or  hear,  they 
would  receive  more  credit  for  chastity  than  is  now  the 
case,  for  they  deserve  more. 

LACK   OF   SELF-CONFIDENCE 

As  a  people  we  lack  self-confidence.  The  country  is  full 
of  men  that  will  readily  talk  you  to  death  privately,  who 
would  run  away  in  alarm  if  asked  to  preside  at  a  public 
meeting.  In  my  Alliance  movement  I  often  have  trouble 
in  getting  out  a  crowd,  every  farmer  in  the  neighborhood 
feeling  of  so  much  importance  as  to  fear  that  if  he  attends 
he  will  be  called  upon  to  say  something. 

IN  DISPUTE 

In  some  communities  where  I  have  lived  the  women 
were  mean  to  their  husbands;  in  others,  the  husbands 

70 


E.    W.    HOWE 

were  mean  to  their  wives.  It  is  usually  tlie  case  that  the 
friends  of  a  wife  believe  her  husband  to  be  a  brute,  and 
the  friends  of  the  husband  believe  the  wife  to  possess  no 
other  talent  than  to  make  him  miserable.  You  can't  tell 
how  it  is ;  the  evidence  is  divided. 

MAN 

There  is  only  one  grade  of  men ;  they  are  all  contempti- 
ble. The  judge  may  seem  to  be  a  superior  creature  so 
long  as  he  keeps  at  a  distance,  for  I  have  never  known  one 
who  was  not  constantly  trying  to  look  wise  and  grave; 
but  when  you  know  him,  you  find  there  is  nothing  re- 
markable about  him  except  a  plug  hat,  a  respectable  coat, 
and  a  great  deal  of  vanity,  induced  by  the  servility  of 
those  who  expect  favors. 

OPPORTUNITY 

You  hear  a  great  many  persons  regretting  lack  of  op- 
portunity. If  every  man  had  opportunity  for  his  desires, 
this  would  be  a  nation  of  murderers  and  disgraced 
women. 

EXPECTATION 

Always  be  ready  for  that  which  you  do  not  expect. 
Nothing  that  you  expect  ever  happens.  You  have  per- 
haps observed  that  when  you  are  waiting  for  a  visitor  at 
the  front  door,  he  comes  in  at  the  back,  and  surprises  you. 

woman's  work 

A  woman's  work  is  never  done,  as  the  almanacs  state, 
for  the  reason  that  she  does  not  go  about  it  in  time  to 
finish  it. 

71 


A   LETTER    FROM    MR.    BIGGS 

THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE  IS  CHARITY 

If  you  can  not  resist  the  low  impulse  to  talk  about  peo- 
ple, say  only  what  you  actually  know,  instead  of  what  you 
have  heard.  And,  while  you  are  about  it,  stop  and  con- 
sider whether  you  are  not  in  need  of  charity  yourself. 

NEIGHBORS 

Every  man  overestimates  his  neighbors,  because  he 
does  not  know  them  so  well  as  he  knows  himself.  A  sen- 
sible man  despises  himself  because  he  knows  what  a  con- 
temptible creature  he  is.  I  despise  Lytle  Biggs,  but  I 
happen  to  know  that  his  neighbors  are  just  as  bad. 

VIRTUE 

Men  are  virtuous  because  the  women  are ;  women  are 
virtuous  from  necessity. 

ASHAMED  OF  THE  TRUTH 

I  believe  I  never  knew  any  one  who  was  not  ashamed 
of  the  truth.  Did  you  ever  notice  that  a  railroad  company 
numbers  its  cars  from  i,ooo,  instead  of  from  i  ? 

KNOWING  ONLY  ONE  OF  THEM 

We  are  sometimes  unable  to  understand  why  a  pretty 
little  woman  marries  a  fellow  we  know  to  be  worthless; 
but  the  fellow,  who  knows  the  woman  better  than  we  do, 
considers  that  he  has  thrown  himself  away.  We  know 
the  fellow,  but  we  do  not  know  the  woman. 

AN  APOLOGY 

I  detest  an  apology.  The  world  is  full  of  people  who 
are  always  making  trouble  and  apologizing  for  it.    If  a 

72 


E.    W.    HOWE 

man  respects  me,  he  will  not  give  himself  occasion  for 
apology.  An  offense  can  not  be  wiped  out  in  that  way. 
If  it  could,  we  would  substitute  apologies  for  hangings.  I 
hope  you  will  never  apologize  to  me;  I  should  regard  it 
as  evidence  that  you  had  wronged  me. 

OLDEST  INHABITANTS 

The  people  of  Smoky  Hill  are  only  fit  for  oldest  inhabi- 
tants. In  thirty  or  forty  years  from  now  there  will  be  a 
great  demand  for  reminiscences  of  the  pioneer  days.  I 
recommend  that  they  preserve  extensive  data  for  the  only 
period  in  their  lives  when  they  can  hope  to  attract  atten- 
tion. 

Be  good  enough,  sir,  to  regard  me,  as  of  old,  your 
friend.  L.  Biggs. 

To  Ned  Westlock^  Twin  Mounds. 


7Z 


!MRS.  JOHNSON 

BY   WILLIAM   DEAN    HOWELLS 

It  was  on  a  morning  of  the  lovely  New  England  May 
that  we  left  the  horse-car,  and,  spreading  our  umbrellas, 
walked  down  the  street  to  our  new  home  in  Charlesbridge, 
through  a  storm  of  snow  and  rain  so  finely  blent  by  the 
influences  of  this  fortunate  climate,  that  no  flake  knew 
itself  from  its  sister  drop,  or  could  be  better  identified 
by  the  people  against  whom  they  beat  in  unison.  A  vernal 
gale  from  the  east  fanned  our  cheeks  and  pierced  pur 
marrow  and  chilled  our  blood,  while  the  raw,  cold  green 
of  the  adventurous  grass  on  the  borders  of  the  sopping 
side-walks  gave,  as  it  peered  through  its  veil  of  melting 
snow  and  freezing  rain,  a  peculiar  cheerfulness  to  the 
landscape.  Here  and  there  in  the  vacant  lots  abandoned 
hoop-skirts  defied  decay;  and  near  the  half-finished 
wooden  houses,  empty  mortar-beds,  and  bits  of  lath  and 
slate  strewn  over  the  scarred  and  mutilated  ground,  added 
their  interest  to  the  scene.     .     .     . 

This  heavenly  weather,  which  the  Pilgrim  Fathers, 
with  the  idea  of  turning  their  thoughts  effectually  from 
earthly  pleasures,  came  so  far  to  discover,  continued  with 
slight  amelioration  throughout  the  month  of  May  and  far 
into  June;  and  it  was  a  matter  of  constant  amazement 
with  one  who  had  known  less  austere  climates,  to  behold 
how  vegetable  life  struggled  with  the  hostile  skies,  and, 
in  an  atmosphere  as  chill  and  damp  as  that  of  a  cellar, 

74 


WILLIAM    DEAN    HOWELLS 

shot  forth  the  buds  and  blossoms  upon  the  pear-trees, 
called  out  the  sour  Puritan  courage  of  the  currant-bushes, 
taught  a  reckless  native  grape-vine  to  wander  and  wanton 
over  the  southern  side  of  the  fence,  and  decked  the  banks 
with  violets  as  fearless  and  as  fragile  as  New  England 
girls;  so  that  about  the  end  of  June,  when  the  heavens 
relented  and  the  sun  blazed  out  at  last,  there  was  little 
for  him  to  do  but  to  redden  and  darken  the  daring  fruits 
that  had  attained  almost  their  full  growth  without  his 
countenance. 

Then,  indeed,  Charlesbridge  appeared  to  us  a  kind  of 
Paradise.  The  wind  blew  all  day  from  the  southwest, 
and  all  day  in  the  grove  across  the  way  the  orioles  sang 
to  their  nestlings.  .  .  .  The  house  was  almost  new 
and  in  perfect  repair ;  and,  better  than  all,  the  kitchen  had 
as  yet  given  no  signs  of  unrest  in  those  volcanic  agencies 
which  are  constantly  at  work  there,  and  which,  with  sud- 
den explosions,  make  Herculaneums  and  Pompeiis  of  so 
many  smiling  households.  Breakfast,  dinner,  and  tea 
came  up  with  illusive  regularity,  and  were  all  the  most 
perfect  of  their  kind ;  and  we  laughed  and  feasted  in  our 
vain  security.  We  had  out  from  the  city  to  banquet  with 
us  the  friends  we  loved,  and  we  were  inexpressibly  proud 
before  them  of  the  Help,  who  first  wrought  miracles  of 
cookery  in  our  honor,  and  then  appeared  in  a  clean  white 
apron,  and  the  glossiest  black  hair,  to  wait  upon  the  table. 
She  was  young,  and  certainly  very  pretty ;  she  was  as  gay 
as  a  lark,  and  was  courted  by  a  young  man  whose  clothes 
would  have  been  a  credit,  if  they  had  not  been  a  reproach, 
to  our  lowly  basement.  She  joyfully  assented  to  the  idea 
of  staying  with  us  till  she  married. 

In  fact,  there  was  much  that  was  extremely  pleasant 
about  the  little  place  when  the  warm  weather  came,  and 
it  was  not  wonderful  to  us  that  Jenny  was  willing  to  re- 

75 


MRS.   JOHNSON' 

main.  It  was  very  quiet;  we  called  one  another  to  the 
window  if  a  large  dog  went  by  our  door;  and  whole  days 
passed  without  the  movement  of  any  wheels  but  the 
butcher's  upon  our  street,  which  flourished  in  ragweed 
and  buttercups  and  daisies,  and  in  the  autumn  burned, 
like  the  borders  of  nearly  all  the  streets  in  Charlesbridge, 
with  the  pallid  azure  flame  of  the  succory.  The  neighbor- 
hood was  in  all  things  a  frontier  between  city  and  country. 
The  horse-cars,  the  type  of  such  civilization — full  of  im- 
posture, discomfort,  and  sublime  possibility — as  we  yet 
possess,  went  by  the  head  of  our  street,  and  might,  per- 
haps, be  available  to  one  skilled  in  calculating  the  move- 
ments of  comets ;  while  two  minutes'  walk  would  take  us 
into  a  wood  so  wild  and  thick  that  no  roof  was  visible 
through  the  trees.  We  learned,  like  innocent  pastoral 
people  of  the  golden  age,  to  know  the  several  voices  of 
the  cows  pastured  in  the  vacant  lots,  and,  like  engine- 
(drivers  of  the  iron  age,  to  distinguish  the  different  whis- 
tles of  the  locomotives  passing  on  the  neighboring  rail- 
road.    ... 

We  played  a  little  at  gardening,  pf  course,  and  planted 
tomatoes,  which  the  chickens  seemed  to  like,  for  they  ate 
them  up  as  fast  as  they  ripened;  and  we  watched  with 
pride  the  growth  of  our  Lawton  blackberries,  which,  after 
attaining  the  most  stalwart  proportions,  were  still  as  bit- 
ter as  the  scrubbiest  of  their  savage  brethren,  and  which, 
when  by  advice  left  on  the  vines  for  a  week  after  they 
turned  black,  were  silently  gorged  by  secret  and  glutton- 
ous flocks  of  robins  and  orioles.  As  for  our  grapes,  the 
frost  cut  them  off  in  the  hour  of  their  triumph. 

So,  as  I  have  hinted,  we  were  not  surprised  that  Jenny 
should  be  willing  to  remain  with  us,  and  were  as  little 
prepared  for  her  desertion  as  for  any  other  change  of  our 
mortal  state.    But  one  day  in  September  she  came  to  her 

1^ 


WILLIAM    DEAN    HOWELLS 

nominal  mistress  with  tears  in  her  beautiful  eyes  and 
protestations  of  unexampled  devotion  upon  her  tongue, 
and  said  that  she  was  afraid  she  must  leave  us.  She  liked 
the  place,  and  she  never  had  worked  for  any  one  that 
was  more  of  a  lady,  but  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  go 
into  the  city.  All  this,  so  far,  was  quite  in  the  manner  of 
domestics  who,  in  ghost  stories,  give  warning  to  the  oc- 
cupants of  haunted  houses ;  and  Jenny's  mistress  listened 
in  suspense  for  the  motive  of  her  desertion,  expecting  to 
hear  no  less  than  that  it  was  something  which  walked  up 
and  down  the  stairs  and  dragged  iron  links  after  it,  or 
something  that  came  and  groaned  at  the  front  door,  like 
populace  dissatisfied  with  a  political  candidate.  But  it 
was  in  fact  nothing  of  this  kind ;  simply,  there  were  no 
lamps  upon  our  street,  and  Jenny,  after  spending  Sunday 
evening  with  friends  in  East  Charlesbridge,  was  always 
alarmed,  on  her  return,  in  walking  from  the  horse-car  to 
our  door.  The  case  was  hopeless,  and  Jenny  and  our 
household  parted  with  respect  and  regret. 

We  had  not  before  this  thought  it  a  grave  disadvantage 
that  our  street  was  unlighted.  Our  street  was  not  drained 
nor  graded;  no  municipal  cart  ever  came  to  carry  away 
our  ashes;  there  was  not  a  water-butt  within  half  a  mile 
to  save  us  from  fire,  nor  more  than  the  one-thousandth 
part  of  a  policeman  to  protect  us  from  theft.  Yet,  as  I 
paid  a  heavy  tax,  I  somehow  felt  that  we  enjoyed  the 
benefits  of  city  government,  and  never  looked  upon 
Charlesbridge  as  in  any  way  undesirable  for  residence. 
But  when  it  became  necessary  to  find  help  in  Jenny's 
place,  the  frosty  welcome  given  to  application  at  the  in- 
telligence offices  renewed  a  painful  doubt  awakened  by 
her  departure.  To  be  sure,  the  heads  of  the  offices  were 
polite  enough;  but  when  the  young  housekeeper  had 
stated  her  case  at  the  first  to  which  she  applied,  and  the 

77 


]V[RS.    JOHNSON 

Intelligencer  had  called  out  to  the  invisible  expectants  in 
the  adjoining  room,  "Anny  wan  wants  to  do  giner'l 
housewark  in  Charlsbrudge  ?"  there  came  from  the  maids 
invoked  so  loud,  so  fierce,  so  full  a  "No !"  as  shook  the 
lady's  heart  with  an  indescribable  shame  and  dread.  The 
name  that,  with  an  innocent  pride  in  its  literary  and  his- 
torical associations,  she  had  written  at  the  heads  of  her 
letters,  was  suddenly  become  a  matter  of  reproach  to  her ; 
and  she  was  almost  tempted  to  conceal  thereafter  that  she 
lived  in  Charlesbridge,  and  to  pretend  that  she  dwelt 
upon  some  wretched  little  street  in  Boston.  "You  see," 
said  the  head  of  the  office,  "the  gairls  doesn't  like  to  live 
so  far  away  from  the  city.  Now,  if  it  was  on'y  in  the 
Port."     ... 

This  pen  is  not  graphic  enough  to  give  the  remote 
reader  an  idea  of  the  affront  offered  to  an  inhabitant  of 
Old  Charlesbridge  in  these  closing  words.  Neither  am 
I  of  sufficiently  tragic  mood  to  report  here  all  the  suffer- 
ings undergone  by  an  unhappy  family  in  finding  serv- 
ants, or  to  tell  how  the  winter  was  passed  with  miserable 
makeshifts.  Alas!  is  it  not  the  history  of  a  thousand  ex- 
periences? Any  one  who  looks  upon  this  page  could 
match  it  with  a  tale  as  full  of  heartbreak  and  disaster, 
while  I  conceive  that,  in  hastening  to  speak  of  Mrs.  John- 
son, I  approach  a  subject  of  unique  interest.     .     .     . 

I  say,  our  last  Irish  girl  went  with  the  last  snow,  and 
on  one  of  those  midsummer-like  days  that  sometimes  fall 
in  early  April  to  our  yet  bleak  and  desolate  zone,  our 
hearts  sang  of  Africa  and  golden  joys.  A  Libyan  longing 
took  us,  and  we  would  have  chosen,  if  we  could,  to  bear 
a  strand  of  grotesque  beads,  or  a  handful  of  brazen  gauds, 
and  traffic  them  for  some  sable  maid  with  crisp  locks, 
whom,  uncoffling  from  the  captive  train  beside  the  desert, 
we  should  make  to  do  our  general  housework  forever, 

78 


WILLIAM    DEAN    HOWELLS 

through  the  right  of  lawful  purchase.  But  we  knew  that 
this  was  impossible,  and  that,  if  we  desired  colored  help, 
we  must  seek  it  at  the  intelligence  office,  which  is  in  one 
of  those  streets  chiefly  inhabited  by  the  orphaned  children 
and  grandchildren  of  slavery.  To  tell  the  truth  these 
orphans  do  not  seem  to  grieve  much  for  their  bereave- 
ment, but  lead  a  life  of  joyous,  and  rather  indolent  ob- 
livion in  their  quarter  of  the  city.  They  are  often  to  be 
seen  sauntering  up  and  down  the  street  by  which  the 
Charlesbridge  cars  arrive, — the  young  with  a  harmless 
swagger,  and  the  old  with  the  generic  limp  which  our 
Autocrat  has  already  noted  as  attending  advanced  years 
in  their  race.  .  .  .  How  gayly  are  the  young  ladies 
of  this  race  attired,  as  they  trip  up  and  down  the  side- 
walks, and  in  and  out  through  the  pendent  garments  at 
the  shop-doors!  They  are  the  black  pansies  and  mari- 
golds and  dark-blooded  dahlias  among  womankind.  They 
try  to  assume  something  of  our  colder  race's  demeanor, 
but  even  the  passer  on  the  horse-car  can  see  that  it  is  not 
native  with  them,  and  is  better  pleased  when  they  forget 
us,  and  ungenteelly  laugh  in  encountering  friends,  letting 
their  white  teeth  glitter  through  the  generous  lips  that 
open  to  their  ears.  In  the  streets  branching  upward  from 
this  avenue,  very  little  colored  men  and  maids  play  with 
broken  or  enfeebled  toys,  or  sport  on  the  wooden  pave- 
ments of  the  entrances  to  the  inner  courts.  Now  and  then 
a  colored  soldier  or  sailor — looking  strange  in  his  uni- 
form, even  after  the  custom  of  several  years — emerges 
from  those  passages ;  or,  more  rarely,  a  black  gentleman, 
stricken  in  years,  and  cased  in  shining  broadcloth,  walks 
solidly  down  the  brick  sidewalk,  cane  in  hand, — a  vision 
of  serene  self-complacency,  and  so  plainly  the  expression 
of  virtuous  public  sentiment  that  the  great  colored  louts, 
innocent  enough  till  then  in  their  idleness,  are  taken  with 

79 


MRS.    JOHNSON 

a  sudden  sense  of  depravity,  and  loaf  guiltily  up  against 
the  house-walls.  At  the  same  moment,  perhaps,  a  young 
damsel,  amorously  scuffling  with  an  admirer  through  one 
of  the  low  open  windows,  suspends  the  strife,  and  bids 
him, — "Go  along  now,  do!"  More  rarely  yet  than  the 
gentleman  described,  one  may  see  a  white  girl  among  the 
dark  neighbors,  whose  frowsy  head  is  uncovered,  and 
whose  sleeves  are  rolled  up  to  her  elbows,  and  who, 
though  no  doubt  quite  at  home,  looks  as  strange  there  as 
that  pale  anomaly  which  may  sometimes  be  seen  among  a 
crew  of  blackbirds. 

An  air  not  so  much  of  decay  as  of  unthrift,  and  yet 
hardly  of  unthrift,  seems  to  prevail  in  the  neighborhood, 
which  has  none  of  the  aggressive  and  impudent  squalor 
of  an  Irish  quarter,  and  none  of  the  surly  wickedness  of 
a  low  American  street.  A  gayety  not  born  of  the  things 
that  bring  its  serious  joy  to  the  true  New  England  heart 
— a  ragged  gayety,  which  comes  of  summer  in  the  blood, 
and  not  in  the  pocket  or  the  conscience,  and  which  affects 
the  countenance  and  the  whole  demeanor,  setting  the  feet 
to  some  inward  music,  and  at  times  bursting  into  a  line 
of  song  or  a  child-like  and  irresponsible  laugh — gives 
tone  to  the  visible  life,  and  wakens  a  very  friendly  spirit 
in  the  passer,  who  somehow  thinks  there  of  a  milder  cli- 
mate, and  is  half  persuaded  that  the  orange-peel  on  the 
sidewalks  came  from  fruit  grown  in  the  soft  atmosphere 
of  those  back  courts. 

It  was  in  this  quarter,  then,  that  we  heard  of  Mrs.  John- 
son ;  and  it  was  from  a  colored  boarding-house  there  that 
she  came  out  to  Charlesbridge  to  look  at  us,  bringing  her 
daughter  of  twelve  years  with  her.  She  was  a  matron 
pf  mature  age  and  portly  figure,  with  a  complexion  like 
coffee  soothed  with  the  richest  cream;  and  her  manners 
were  so  full  of  a  certain  tranquillity  and  grace,  that  she 

80 


WILLIAM    DEAN    HOWELLS 

charmed  away  all  our  will  to  ask  for  references.  It  was 
only  her  barbaric  laughter  and  lawless  eye  that  betrayed 
how  slightly  her  New  England  birth  and  breeding  cov- 
ered her  ancestral  traits,  and  bridged  the  gulf  of  a  thou- 
sand years  of  civilization  that  lay  between  her  race  and 
ours.  But  in  fact,  she  was  doubly  estranged  by  descent ; 
for,  as  we  learned  later,  a  sylvan  wildness  mixed  with  that 
pf  the  desert  in  her  veins  :  her  grandfather  was  an  Indian, 
and  her  ancestors  on  this  side  had  probably  sold  their 
lands  for  the  same  value  in  trinkets  that  bought  the  orig- 
inal African  pair  on  the  other  side. 

The  first  day  that  Mrs.  Johnson  descended  into  our 
kitchen,  she  conjured  from  the  malicious  disorder  in 
which  it  had  been  left  by  the  flitting  Irish  kobold  a  dinner 
that  revealed  the  inspirations  of  genius,  and  was  quite 
different  from  a  dinner  of  mere  routine  and  laborious 
talent.  Something  original  and  authentic  mingled  with 
the  accustomed  flavors ;  and,  though  vague  reminiscences 
of  canal-boat  travel  and  woodland  camps  arose  from  the 
relish  of  certain  of  the  dishes,  there  was  yet  the  assur- 
ance of  such  power  in  the  preparation  of  the  whole,  that 
we  knew  her  to  be  merely  running  over  the  chords  of  our 
appetite  with  preliminary  savors,  as  a  musician  acquaints 
his  touch  with  the  keys  of  an  unfamiliar  piano  before 
breaking  into  brilliant  and  triumphant  execution.  Within 
a  week  she  had  mastered  her  instrument;  and  thereafter 
there  was  no  faltering  in  her  performances,  which  she 
varied  constantly,  through  inspiration  or  from  suggestion. 
.  .  .  But,  after  all,  it  was-in  puddings  that  Mrs.  John- 
son chiefly  excelled.  She  was  one  of  those  cooks — rare 
as  men  of  genius  in  literature — who  love  their  own 
dishes ;  and  she  had,  in  her  personally  child-like  simplicity 
of  taste,  and  the  inherited  appetites  of  her  savage  fore- 
fathers, a  dominant  passion  for  sweets.     So  far  as  we 

8i 


MRS.   JOHNSON' 

could  learn,  she  subsisted  principally  upon  puddings  and 
tea.  Through  the  same  primitive  instincts,  no  doubt,  she 
loved  praise.  She  openly  exulted  in  our  artless  flatteries 
of  her  skill ;  she  waited  jealously  at  the  head  of  the  kitchen 
stairs  to  hear  what  was  said  of  her  work,  especially  if 
there  were  guests;  and  she  was  never  too  weary  to  at- 
tempt emprises  of  cookery. 

While  engaged  in  these,  she  wore  a  species  of  sightly 
handkerchief  like  a  turban  upon  her  head,  and  about  her 
person  those  mystical  swathings  in  which  old  ladies  of 
the  African  race  delight.  But  she  most  pleasured  our 
sense  of  beauty  and  moral  fitness  when,  after  the  last  pan 
was  washed  and  the  last  pot  was  scraped,  she  lighted  a 
potent  pipe,  and,  taking  her  stand  at  the  kitchen  door, 
laded  the  soft  evening  air  with  its  pungent  odors.  If  we 
surprised  her  at  these  supreme  moments,  she  took  the  pipe 
from  her  lips,  and  put  it  behind  her,  with  a  low,  mellow 
chuckle,  and  a  look  of  half-defiant  consciousness;  never 
guessing  that  none  of  her  merits  took  us  half  so  much  as 
the  cheerful  vice  which  she  only  feigned  to  conceal. 

Some  things  she  could  not  do  so  perfectly  as  cooking 
because  of  her  failing  eyesight,  and  we  persuaded  her  that 
spectacles  would  both  become  and  befriend  a  lady  of  her 
years,  and  so  bought  her  a  pair  of  steel-bowed  glasses. 
She  wore  them  in  some  great  emergencies  at  first,  but  had 
clearly  no  pride  in  them.  Before  long  she  laid  them  aside 
altogether,  and  they  had  passed  from  our  thoughts,  when 
one  day  we  heard  her  mellow  note  of  laughter  and  her 
daughter's  harsher  cackle  outside  our  door,  and,  opening 
it,  beheld  Mrs.  Johnson  in  gold-bowed  spectacles  of  mas- 
sive frame.  We  then  learned  that  their  purchase  was  in 
fulfilment  of  a  vow  made  long  ago,  in  the  life-time  of  Mr. 
Johnson,  that,  if  ever  she  wore  glasses,  they  should  be 
gold-bowed ;  and  I  hope  the  manes  of  the  dead  were  half 

82 


WILLIAM    DEAN    HOWELLS 

as  happy  in  these  votive  spectacles  as  the  simple  soul  that 
offered  them. 

She  and  her  late  partner  were  the  parents  of  eleven 
children,  some  of  whom  were  dead,  and  some  of  whom 
were  wanderers  in  unknown  parts.  During  his  life-time 
she  had  kept  a  little  shop  in  her  native  town ;  and  it  was 
only  within  a  few  years  that  she  had  gone  into  service. 
She  cherished  a  natural  haughtiness  of  spirit,  and  resented 
control,  although  disposed  to  do  all  she  could  of  her  own 
notion.  Being  told  to  say  when  she  wanted  an  afternoon, 
she  explained  that  when  she  wanted  an  afternoon  she  al- 
ways took  it  without  asking,  but  always  planned  so  as  not 
to  discommode  the  ladies  with  whom  she  lived.  These, 
she  said,  had  numbered  twenty-seven  within  three  years, 
which  made  us  doubt  the  success  of  her  system  in  all  cases, 
though  she  merely  held  out  the  fact  as  an  assurance  of  her 
faith  in  the  future,  and  a  proof  of  the  ease  with  which 
places  are  to  be  found.  She  contended,  moreover,  that  a 
lady  who  had  for  thirty  years  had  a  house  pf  her  own, 
was  in  nowise  bound  to  ask  permission  to  receive  visits 
from  friends  where  she  might  be  living,  but  that  they 
ought  freely  to  come  and  go  like  other  guests.  In  this 
spirit  she  once  invited  her  son-in-law.  Professor  Jones  of 
Providence,  to  dine  with  her ;  and  her  defied  mistress,  on 
entering  the  dining-room,  found  the  Professor  at  pud- 
ding and  tea  there, — an  impressively  respectable  figure  in 
black  clothes,  with  a  black  face  rendered  yet  more  effective 
by  a  pair  of  green  goggles.  It  appeared  that  this  dark 
professor  was  a  light  pf  phrenology  in  Rhode  Island,  and 
that  he  was  believed  to  have  uncommon  virtue  in  his  sci- 
ence by  reason  of  being  blind  as  well  as  black. 

I  am  loath  to  confess  that  Mrs.  Johnson  had  not  a  flat- 
tering opinion  of  the  Caucasian  race  in  all  respects.  In 
fact,  she  had  very  good  philosophical  and  Scriptural  rea- 

83 


MRS.    JOHNSON 

sons  for  looking  upon  us  as  an  upstart  people  of  new 
blood,  who  had  come  into  their  whiteness  by  no  credit- 
able or  pleasant  process.  The  late  Mr.  Johnson,  who  had 
died  in  the  West  Indies,  whither  he  voyaged  for  his  health 
in  quality  of  cook  upon  a  Down-East  schooner,  was  a 
man  of  letters,  and  had  written  a  book  to  show  the  su- 
periority pf  the  black  over  the  white  branches  of  the  hu- 
man family.  In  this  he  held  that,  as  all  islands  have  been 
at  their  discovery  found  peopled  by  blacks,  we  must  needs 
believe  that  humanity  was  first  created  of  that  color. 
Mrs.  Johnson  could  not  show  us  her  husband's  work  (a 
sole  copy  in  the  library  of  an  English  gentleman  at  Port 
au  Prince  is  not  to  be  bought  for  money),  but  she  often 
developed  its  arguments  to  the  lady  of  the  house ;  and  one 
day,  with  a  great  show  of  reluctance,  and  many  protests 
that  no  personal  slight  was  meant,  let  fall  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Johnson  believed  the  white  race  descended  from 
Gehaz,  the  leper,  upon  whom  the  leprosy  of  Naaman  fell 
when  the  latter  returned  by  Divine  favor  to  his  original, 
blackness.  "And  he  went  out  from  his  presence  a  leper 
as  white  as  snow,"  said  Mrs.  Johnson,  quoting  irrefutable 
Scripture.  "Leprosy,  leprosy,"  she  added  thoughtfully, — 
"nothing  but  leprosy  bleached  you  out." 

It  seems  to  me  much  in  her  praise  that  she  did  not  exult 
in  our  taint  and  degradation,  as  some  white  philosophers 
used  to  do  in  the  opposite  idea  that  a  part  of  the  human 
family  were  cursed  to  lasting  blackness  and  slavery  in 
Ham  and  his  children,  but  even  told  us  of  a  remarkable 
approach  to  whiteness  in  many  of  her  own  offspring.  In 
a  kindred  spirit  of  charity,  no  doubt,  she  refused  ever  to 
attend  church  with  people  of  her  elder  and  wholesomer 
blood.  When  she  went  to  church,  she  said,  she  always 
went  to  a  white  church,  though  while  with  us  I  am  bound 
to  say  she  never  went  to  any.    She  professed  to  read  her 

84 


WILLIAM    DEAN    HOWELLS 

Sible  in  her  bedroom  on  Sundays ;  but  we  suspected,  from 
certain  sounds  and  odors  which  used  to  steal  out  of  this 
sanctuary,  that  her  piety  more  commonly  found  expres- 
sion in  dozing  and  smoking. 

I  would  not  make  a  wanton  jest  here  of  Mrs.  Johnson's 
anxiety  to  claim  honor  for  the  African  color,  while  deny- 
ing this  color  in  many  of  her  own  family.  It  afforded  a 
glimpse  of  the  pain  which  all  her  people  must  endure, 
however  proudly  they  hide  it  or  light-heartedly  forget  it, 
from  the  despite  and  contumely  to  which  they  are  guilt- 
lessly born ;  and  when  I  thought  how  irreparable  was  this 
disgrace  and  calamity  of  a  black  skin,  and  how  irrepara- 
ble it  must  be  for  ages  yet,  in  this  world  where  every 
other  shame  and  all  manner  of  wilful  guilt  and  wicked- 
ness may  hope  for  covert  and  pardon,  I  had  little  heart  to 
laugh.  Indeed,  it  was  so  pathetic  to  hear  this  poor  old 
soul  talk  of  her  dead  and  lost  ones,  and  try,  in  spite  of  all 
Mr.  Johnson's  theories  and  her  own  arrogant  generaliza- 
tions, to  establish  their  whiteness,  that  we  must  have  been 
very  cruel  and  silly  people  to  turn  her  sacred  fables  even 
into  matter  of  question.  I  have  no  doubt  that  her  An- 
toinette Anastasia  and  her  Thomas  Jefferson  Wilberforce 
— it  is  impossible  to  give  a  full  idea  of  the  splendor  and 
scope  of  the  baptismal  names  in  Mrs.  Johnson's  family — 
have  as  light  skins  and  as  golden  hair  in  heaven  as  her 
reverend  maternal  fancy  painted  for  them  in  our  world. 
There,  certainly,  they  would  not  be  subject  to  tanning, 
which  had  ruined  the  delicate  complexion,  and  had 
knotted  into  black  woolly  tangles  the  once  wavy  blonde 
locks  of  our  little  maid-servant  Naomi ;  and  I  would  fain 
believe  that  Toussaint  Washington  Johnson,  who  ran 
away  to  sea  so  many  years  ago,  has  found  some  fortunate 
zone  where  his  hair  and  skin  keep  the  same  sunny  and 
rosy  tints  they  wore  to  his  mother's  eyes  in  infancy.   But 

85 


MRS.    JOHNSON 

I  have  no  means  of  knowing  this,  or  of  telHng  whether 
he  was  the  prodigy  of  intellect  that  he  was  declared  to 
be.  Naomi  could  no  more  be  taken  in  proof  of  the  one  as- 
sertion than  of  the  other.  When  she  came  to  us,  it  was 
agreed  that  she  should  go  to  school ;  but  she  overruled  her 
mother  in  this  as  in  everything  else,  and  never  went.  Ex- 
cept Sunday-school  lessons,  she  had  no  other  instruction 
than  that  her  mistress  gave  her  in  the  evenings,  when  a 
heavy  day's  play  and  the  natural  influences  of  the  hour 
conspired  with  original  causes  to  render  her  powerless 
before  words  of  one  syllable. 

The  first  week  of  her  services  she  was  obedient  and 
faithful  to  her  duties;  but,  relaxing  in  the  atmosphere 
of  a  house  which  seems  to  demoralize  all  menials,  she 
shortly  fell  into  disorderly  ways  of  lying  in  wait  for  call- 
ers out  of  doors,  and,  when  people  rang,  of  running  up 
the  front  steps,  and  letting  them  in  from  the  outside.  As 
the  season  expanded,  and  the  fine  weather  became  con- 
firmed, she  modified  even  this  form  of  service,  and  spent 
her  time  in  the  fields,  appearing  at  the  house  only  when 
nature  importunately  craved  molasses.     .     .     . 

In  her  untamable  disobedience,  Naomi  alone  betrayed 
her  sylvan  blood,  for  she  was  in  all  other  respects  negro 
and  not  Indian.  But  it  was  of  her  aboriginal  ancestry 
that  Mrs.  Johnson  chiefly  boasted, — when  not  engaged  in 
argument  to  maintain  the  superiority  of  the  African  race. 
She  loved  to  descant  upon  it  as  the  cause  and  explanation 
of  her  own  arrogant  habit  of  feeling;  and  she  seemed  in- 
deed to  have  inherited  something  of  the  Indian's  hauteur 
along  with  the  Ethiop's  supple  cunning  and  abundant 
amiability.  She  gave  many  instances  in  which  her  pride 
had  met  and  overcome  the  insolence  of  employers,  and 
the  kindly  old  creature  was  by  no  means  singular  in  her 
pride  of  being  reputed  proud. 

86 


WILLIAM    DEAN    HOWELLS 

She  could  never  have  been  a  woman  of  strong  logical 
faculties,  but  she  had  in  some  things  a  very  surprising 
and  awful  astuteness.  She  seldom  introduced  any  pur- 
pose directly,  but  bore  all  about  it,  and  then  suddenly 
sprung  it  upon  her  unprepared  antagonist.  At  other 
times  she  obscurely  hinted  a  reason,  and  left  a  conclusion 
to  be  inferred;  as  when  she  warded  off  reproach  for  some 
delinquency  by  saying  in  a  general  way  that  she  had  lived 
with  ladies  who  used  to  come  scolding  into  the  kitchen 
after  they  had  taken  their  bitters.  "Quality  ladies  took 
their  bitters  regular,"  she  added,  to  remove  any  sting  of 
personality  from  her  remark ;  for,  from  many  things  she 
had  let  fall,  we  knew  that  she  did  not  regard  us  as  quality. 
On  the  contrary,  she  often  tried  to  overbear  us  with  the 
gentility  of  her  former  places;  and  would  tell  the  lady 
over  whom  she  reigned,  that  she  had  lived  with  folks 
worth  their  three  and  four  hundred  thousand  dollars,  who 
never  complained  as  she  did  of  the  ironing.  Yet  she  had 
a  sufficient  regard  for  the  literary  occupations  of  the  fam- 
ily, Mr.  Johnson  having  been  an  author.  She  even  pro- 
fessed to  have  herself  written  a  book,  which  was  still  in 
manuscript,  and  preserved  somewhere  among  her  best 
clothes. 

It  was  well,  on  many  accounts,  to  be  in  contact  with 
a  mind  so  original  and  suggestive  as  Mrs.  Johnson's.  We 
loved  to  trace  its  intricate  yet  often  transparent  opera- 
tions, and  were  perhaps  too  fond  of  explaining  its  peculi- 
arities by  facts  of  ancestry, — of  finding  hints  of  the  Pow- 
wow or  the  Grand  Custom  in  each  grotesque  development. 
We  were  conscious  of  something  warmer  in  this  old  soul 
than  in  ourselves,  and  something  wilder,  and  we  chose 
to  think  it  the  tropic  and  the  untracked  forest.  She  had 
scarcely  any  being  apart  from  her  affection ;  she  had  no 
morality,  but  was  good  because  she  neither  hated  nor 

87 


MRS.    JOHNSON' 

envied ;  and  she  might  have  been  a  saint  far  more  easily 
than  far  more  civiHzed  people. 

There  was  that  also  in  her  sinuous  yet  malleable  na- 
ture, so  full  of  guile  and  so  full  of  goodness,  that  re- 
minded us  pleasantly  of  lowly  folks  in  elder  lands,  where 
relaxing  oppressions  have  lifted  the  restraints  of  fear 
between  master  and  servant,  without  disturbing  the  fa- 
miliarity of  their  relation.  She  advised  freely  with  us 
upon  all  household  matters,  and  took  a  motherly  interest 
in  whatever  concerned  us.  She  could  be  flattered  or 
caressed  into  almost  any  service,  but  no  threat  or  com- 
mand could  move  her.  When  she  erred  she  never  ac- 
knowledged her  wrong  in  words,  but  handsomely  ex- 
pressed her  regrets  in  a  pudding,  or  sent  up  her  apologies 
in  a  favorite  dish  secretly  prepared.  We  grew  so  well 
used  to  this  form  of  exculpation,  that,  whenever  Mrs. 
Johnson  took  an  afternoon  at  an  inconvenient  season,  we 
knew  that  for  a  week  afterwards  we  should  be  feasted 
like  princes.  She  owned  frankly  that  she  loved  us,  that 
she  never  had  done  half  so  much  for  people  before,  and 
that  she  never  had  been  nearly  so  well  suited  in  any  other 
place;  and  for  a  brief  and  happy  time  we  thought  that 
we  never  should  part. 

One  day,  however,  our  dividing  destiny  appeared  in  the 
basement,  and  was  presented  to  us  as  Hippolyto  Thucyd- 
ides,  the  son  of  Mrs,  Johnson,  who  had  just  arrived  on 
a  visit  to  his  mother  from  the  State  of  New  Hampshire. 
He  was  a  heavy  and  loutish  youth,  standing  upon  the 
borders  of  boyhood,  and  looking  forward  to  the  future 
with  a  vacant  and  listless  eye.  I  mean  this  was  his  figura- 
tive attitude ;  his  actual  manner,  as  he  lolled  upon  a  chair 
beside  the  kitchen  window,  was  so  eccentric  that  we  felt 
a  little  uncertain  how  to  regard  him,  and  Mrs.  Johnson 
openly  described  him   as  peculiar.    He  was   so   deeply 

88 


WILLIAM    DEAN    HOWELLS 

tanned  ^y  the  fervid  suns  of  the  New  Hampshire  winter, 
and  his  hair  had  so  far  suffered  from  the  example  of  the 
sheep  lately  under  his  charge,  that  he  could  not  be  classed 
by  any  stretch  of  comparison  with  the  blonde  and  straight- 
haired  members  of  Mrs.  Johnson's  family. 

He  remained  with  us  all  the  first  day  until  late  in  the 
afternoon,  when  his  mother  took  him  out  to  get  him  a 
boarding-house.  Then  he  departed  in  the  van  of  her  and 
Naomi,  pausing  at  the  gate  to  collect  his  spirits,  and, 
after  he  had  sufficiently  animated  himself  by  clapping  his 
palms  together,  starting  off  down  the  street  at  a  hand- 
gallop,  to  the  manifest  terror  of  the  cows  in  the  pasture, 
and  the  confusion  of  the  less  demonstrative  people  of  our 
household.  Other  characteristic  traits  appeared  in  Hippo- 
lyto  Thucydides  within  no  very  long  period  of  time,  and 
he  ran  away  from  his  lodgings  so  often  during  the  sum- 
mer that  he  might  be  said  to  board  round  among  the  put- 
lying  cornfields  and  turnip-patches  of  Charlesbridge.  As 
a  check  upon  this  habit,  Mrs.  Johnson  seemed  to  have  in- 
vited him  to  spend  his  whole  time  in  our  basement;  for 
whenever  we  went  below  we  found  him  there,  balanced — 
perhaps  in  homage  to  us,  and  perhaps  as  a  token  of  ex- 
treme sensibility  in  himself — upon  the  low  window-sill, 
the  bottoms  of  his  boots  touching  the  floor  inside,  and  his 
face  buried  in  the  grass  without. 

We  could  formulate  no  very  tenable  objection  to  all 
this,  and  yet  the  presence  of  Thucydides  in  our  kitchen 
unaccountably  oppressed  our  imaginations.  We  beheld 
him  all  over  the  house,  a  monstrous  eidolon,  balanced 
upon  every  window-sill;  and  he  certainly  attracted  un- 
pleasant notice  to  our  place,  no  less  by  his  furtive  and 
hangdog  manner  of  arrival  than  by  the  bold  displays 
with  which  he  celebrated  his  departures.  We  hinted  this 
to  Mrs.  Johnson,  but  she  could  not  enter  into  pur  feeling. 

89 


MRS.    JOHNSON 

Indeed,  all  the  wild  poetry  of  her  maternal  and  primitive 
nature  seemed  to  cast  itself  about  this  hapless  boy;  and  if 
we  had  listened  to  her  we  should  have  believed  there  was 
no  pne  so  agreeable  in  society,  or  so  quick-witted  in  af- 
fairs, as  Hippolyto,  when  he  chose.     .     .     . 

At  last,  when  we  said  positively  that  Thucydides  should 
come  to  us  no  more,  and  then  qualified  the  prohibition  by 
allowing  him  to  come  every  Sunday,  she  answered  that 
she  never  would  hurt  the  child's  feelings  by  telling  him 
not  to  come  where  his  mother  was ;  that  people  who  did 
not  love  her  children  did  not  love  her ;  and  that,  if  Hippy 
went,  she  went.  We  thought  it  a  masterstroke  of  firm- 
ness to  rejoin  that  Hippolyto  must  go  in  any  event;  but 
I  am  bound  to  own  that  he  did  not  go,  and  that  his  mother 
stayed,  and  so  fed  us  with  every  cunning  propitiatory 
dainty,  that  we  must  have  been  Pagans  to  renew  our 
threat.  In  fact,  w.e  begged  Mrs.  Johnson  to  go  into  the 
country  with  us,  and  she,  after  long  reluctation  on  Hip- 
py's account,  consented,  agreeing  to  send  him  away  to 
friends  during  her  absence. 

We  made  every  preparation,  and  on  the  eve  of  our  de- 
parture Mrs,  Johnson  went  into  the  city  to  engage  her 
son's  passage  to  Bangor,  while  we  awaited  her  return  in 
untroubled  security. 

But  she  did  not  appear  till  midnight,  and  then  re- 
sponded with  but  a  sad  "Well,  sah!"  to  the  cheerful 
"Well,  Mrs.  Johnson !"  that  greeted  her. 

"All  right,  Mrs.  Johnson  ?" 

Mrs.  Johnson  made  a  strange  noise,  half  chuckle  and 
half  death-rattle,  in  her  throat.  "All  wrong,  sah.  Hip- 
py's off  again ;  and  I've  been  all  over  the  city  after  him." 

"Then  you  can't  go  with  us  in  the  morning?" 

"How  can  I,  sah  ?" 

Mrs.  Johnson  went  sadly  out  of  the  room.   Then  she 

90 


WILLIAM    DEAN    HOWELLS 

came  back  to  the  door  again,  and  opening  it,  uttered,  for 
the  first  time  in  our  service,  words  of  apology  and  regret : 
"I  hope  I  ha'n't  put  you  out  any.  I  zuaiited  to  go  with 
you,  but  I  ought  to  knowed  I  could  n't.  All  is,  I  loved 
you  top  much." 

PASS 

BY   IRONQUILL 

A  father  said  unto  his  hopeful  son, 
"Who  was  Leonidas,  my  cherished  one  ?" 
The  boy  replied,  with  words  of  ardent  nature, 
"He  was  a  member  of  the  legislature." 
"How  ?"  asked  the  parent ;  then  the  youngster  saith : 
"He  got  a  pass,  and  held  her  like  grim  death." 
"Whose  pass?  what  pass?"  the  anxious  father  cried; 
"  'T  was  the'r  monopoly,"  the  boy  replied. 

In  deference  to  the  public,  we  must  state, 
That  boy  has  been  an  orphan  since  that  date. 


TEACHING  BY  EXAMPLE 

BY  JOHN  G.  SAXE 

**What  is  the  'Poet's  License,'  say  ?" 

Asked  rose-lipped  Anna  of  a  poet. 
"Now  give  me  an  example,  pray. 

That  when  I  see  one  I  may  know  it." 
Quick  as  a  flash  he  plants  a  kiss 
Where  perfect  kisses  always  fall. 
"Nay,  sir!  what  liberty  is  this?" 

"The  Poet's  License,— that  is  all !" 
91 


WHEN  ALBANI  SANG* 

BY   WILLIAM    HENRY   DRUMMOND 

Was  workin'  away  on  de  farm  dere,  wan  morning  not 

long  ago, 
Feexin'  de  fence  for  winter — 'cos  dat's  w'ere  we  got  de 

snow! 
W'en  Jeremie  Plouffe,  ma  neighbor,  come  over  an'  spik 

wit'  me, 
"Antoine,  you  will  come  on  de  city,  for  hear  Ma-dam 

All-ba-nee?" 

"Wat  you  mean?"  I  was  sayin'  right  off,  me,  "Some 
woman  was  mak'  de  speech. 

Or  girl  on  de  Hooraw  Circus,  dpin'  high  kick  an' 
screech  ?" 

"Non — non,"  he  is  spikin' — "Excuse  me,  dat's  be  Ma- 
dam All-ba-nee 

Was  leevin'  down  here  on  de  contree,  two  mile  'noder  side 
Chambly. 

"She's  jus'  comin'  over  from  Englan',  on  steamboat  ar- 
rive Kebeck, 

Singin'  on  Lunnon  an'  Paree,  an'  havin'  beeg  tam,  I  ex- 
pec', 

But  no  matter  de  mpche  she  enjoy  it,  for  travel  all  roun' 
de  worl', 

Somet'ing  on  de  heart  bring  her  back  here,  for  she  was  de 
Chambly  girl. 

*From  "The  Habitant  and  Other  French   Canadian   Poems,"  by 
William  Henry  Drummond.   Copyright  1897  by  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons. 

92 


WILLIAM    HENRY   DRUMMOND 

"She  never  do  not'ing  but  singin'  an'  makin'  de  beeg 

grande  tour 
An'  travel  on  summer  an'  winter,  so  mus'  be  de  firs'  class 

for  sure! 
Ev'ryboddy  I'm  t'inkin'  was  know  her,  an'  I  also  hear 

'noder  t'ing, 
She's  frien'  on  La  Reine  Victoria  an'  show  her  de  way  to 

sing!" 

"Wall,"  I  say,  "you're  sure  she  is  Chambly,  w'at  you  call 

Ma-dam  All-ba-nee  ? 
Don't  know  me  dat  nam'  on  de  Canton — I  hope  you're  not 

fool  wit'  me?" 
An  he  say,  "Lajeunesse,  dey  was  call  her,  before  she  is 

come  mariee. 
But  she's  takin'  de  nam'  of  her  husban' — I  s'pose  dat's  de 

only  way." 

"C'est  bon,  mon  ami,"  I  was  say  me,  "If  I  get  t'roo  de 
fence  nex'  day 

An'  she  don't  want  too  moche  on  de  monee,  den  mebbe  I 
see  her  play." 

So  I  finish  dat  job  on  to-morrow,  Jeremie  he  was  helpin' 
me  too, 

An'  I  say,  "Len'  me  t'ree  dollar  quickly  for  mak'  de  voy- 
age wit'  you." 

Correc' — so  we're  startin'  nex'  morning,  an'  arrive  Mon- 
treal all  right. 

Buy  dollar  tiquette  on  de  bureau,  an'  pass  on  de  hall  dat 
night. 

Beeg  crowd,  wall !  I  bet  you  was  dere  too,  all  dress  on 
some  fancy  dress, 

De  lady,  I  don't  say  not'ing,  but  man's  all  w'ite  shirt  an' 
np  ves'. 

93 


WHEN    ALBANI    SANG 

Don't  matter,  w'en  ban'  dey  be  ready,  de  foreman  strek 

out  wit'  hees  steek. 
An'  fiddle  an'  ev'ryt'ing  else  too,  begin  for  play  up  de 

musique. 
It's  fenny  t'ing  too  dey  was  playin'  don't  lak  it  mese'f 

at  all, 
I  rader  be  lissen  some  jeeg,  me,  or  w'at  you  call  "Affer 

de  ball." 

An'  I'm  not  feelin'  very  surprise  den,  w'en  de  crowd  holler 

out,  ''Encore," 
For  mak'  all  dem  feller  commencin'  an'  try  leetle  piece 

some  more, 
'Twas  better  wan'  too,  I  be  t'inkin',  but  slow  lak  you're 

goin'  to  die, 
All  de  sam',  noboddy  say  not'ing,  dat  mean  dey  was 

satisfy. 

Affer  dat  come  de  Grande  piano,  lak  we  got  on  Chambly 

Hotel, 
She's  nice  lookin'  girl  was  play  dat,  so  of  course  she's  go 

off  purty  well. 
Den  feller  he's  ronne  out  an'  sing  some,  it's  all  about  very 

fine  moon, 
Dat  shine  on  Canal,  ev'ry  night  too,  I'm  sorry  I  don't 

know  de  tune. 

Nex'  t'ing  I  commence  get  excite,  me,  for  I  don't  see  no 

great  Ma-dam  yet. 
Too  bad  I  was  los  all  dat  monee,  an'  too  late  for  de  raffle 

tiquette ! 
W'en  jus'  as  I  feel  very  sorry,  for  come  all  de  way  from 

Chambly, 
Jeremie  he  was  w'isper,  "Tiens,  tiens,  prenez  garde,  she's 

comin'  Ma-dam  All-ba-nee!" 
94 


WILLIAM   HENRY   DRUMMOND 

Ev'ryboddy  seem  glad  w'en  dey  see  her,  come  walkin* 

right  down  de  platform, 
An'  way  dey  mak'  noise  on  de  han'  den,  w'y!  it's  jus'  lak 

de  beeg  tonder  storm ! 
I'll  never  see  not'ing  lak  dat,  me,  no  matter  I  travel  de 

worl', 
An'  Ma-dam,  you  t'ink  it  was  scare  her  ?  Non,  she  laugh 

lak  de  Chambly  girl ! 

Dere  was  young  feller  coniin'  behin'   her,   walk   nice, 

comme  un  Cavalier, 
An'  before  All-ba-nee  she  is  ready  an'  piano  get  startin' 

for  play, 
De  feller  commence  wit'  hees  singin',  more  stronger  dan 

all  de  res', 
I  t'ink  he's  got  very  bad  manner,  know  not'ing  at  all 

politesse. 

Ma-dam,  I  s'pose  she  get  mad  den,  an'  before  anyboddy 

can  spik, 
She  settle  right  down  for  mak'  sing  too,  an'  purty  soon 

ketch  heem  up  quick, 
Den  she's  kip  it  on  gainin'  an'  gainin',  till  de  song  it  is 

tout  finis. 
An'  w'en  she  is  beatin'  dat  feller,  Bagosh!   I  am  proud 

Chambly ! 

I'm  not  very  sorry  at  all,  me,  w'en  de  feller  was  ronnin' 
away, 

An'  man  he's  come  out  wit'  de  piccolo,  an'  start  heem 
right  off  for  play. 

For  it's  kin'  de  musique  I  be  fancy,  Jeremie  he  is  lak  it 
also, 

An'  wan  de  bes'  t'ing  on  dat  ev'ning  is  man  wit'  de  pic- 
colo ! 

95 


WHEN    ALBANI    SANG 

Den  mebbe  ten  minute  is  passin',  Ma-dam  she  is  comin' 

encore, 
Dis  tam  all  alone  on  de  platform,  dat  feller  don't  show  up 

no  more, 
An'  w'en  she  start  off  on  de  singin'  Jeremie  say,  "Antoine, 

dat's  Frangais," 
Dis  give  us  more  pleasure,  I  tole  you,  'cos  w'y  ?  We're  de 

pure  Canayen ! 

Dat  song  I  will  never  forget  me,  't  was  song  of  de  leetle 

bird, 
W'en  he's  fly  from  it's  nes'  on  de  tree  top,  'fore  res'  of  de 

worl'  get  stirred, 
Ma-dam  she  was  tole  us  about  it,  den  start  off  so  quiet  an' 

low, 
An'  sing  lak  de  bird  on  de  morning,  de  poor  leetle  small 

oiseau. 

I  'member  wan  tam  I  be  sleepin'  jus'  onder  some  beeg  pine 

tree 
An  song  of  de  robin  wak'  me,  but  robin  he  don't  see  me, 
Dere's  not'ing  for  scarin'  dat  bird  dere,  he's  feel  all  alone 

on  de  worl', 
Wall !  Ma-dam  she  mus'  lissen  lak  dat  too,  w'en  she  was 

de  Chambly  girl ! 

Cos  how'  could  she  sing  dat  nice  chanson,  de  sam'  as  de 

bird  I  was  hear. 
Till  I  see  it  de  maple  an'  pine  tree  an'  Richelieu  ronnin' 

near. 
Again  I'm  de  leetle  feller,  lak  young  colt  upon  de  spring 
Dat's  jus'  on  de  way  I  was  feel,  me,  w'en  Ma-dam  All-ba- 

nee  is  sing ! 

96 


.WILLIAM    HENRY    DRUMMOND 

An'  affer  de  song  it  is  finish,  an'  crowd  is  mak'  noise  wit' 

its  han', 
I  s'pose  dey  be  t'inkin'  I'm  crazy,  dat  mebbe  I  don't  on- 

derstan', 
Cos  I'm  set  on  de  chair  very  quiet,  mese'f  an'  poor  Jere- 

mie, 
An'  I  see  dat  hees  eye  it  was  cry  too,  jus'  sam'  way  it  go 

wit'  me. 

Dere's  rosebush  outside  on  our  garden,  ev'ry  spring  it  has 

got  new  nes', 
But  only  wan  bkiebird  is  buil'  dere,  I  know  her  from  all 

de  res', 
An'  no  matter  de  far  she  be  flyin'  away  on  de  winter  tam, 
Back  to  her  own  leetle  rosebush  she's  comin'  dere  jus'  de 

sam'. 

We're  not  de  beeg  place  on  our  Canton,  mebbe  cole  on  de 

winter,  too. 
But  de  heart's  "Canayen"  on  pur  body  an'  dat's  warm 

enough  for  true ! 
An'  w'en  All-ba-nee  was  got  lonesome  for  travel  all  roun' 

de  worl' 
I  hope  she'll  come  home,  lak  de  bluebird,  an'  again  be  de 

Chambly  girl ! 


97 


COLONEL  STERETT'S  PANTHER  HUNT 

BY    ALFRED    HENRY   LEWIS 

"Panthers,  what  we-all  calls  'mountain  lions/ "  ob- 
served the  Old  Cattleman,  wearing  meanwhile  the  sapient 
air  of  him  who  feels  equipped  of  his  subject,  "is  plenty- 
furtive,  not  to  say  mighty  sedyoolous  to  skulk.  That's 
why  a  gent  don't  meet  up  with  more  of  'em  while  piroot- 
in'  about  in  the  hills.  Them  cats  hears  him,  or  they  sees 
him,  an'  him  still  ignorant  tharof ;  an'  with  that  they  bash- 
fully withdraws.  Which  it's  to  be  urged  in  favor  of 
mountain  lions  that  they  never  forces  themse'fs  on  no 
gent;  they're  shore  considerate,  that  a-way,  an'  speshul 
of  themse'fs.  If  one's  ever  hurt,  you  can  bet  it  won't  be 
a  accident.  However,  it  ain't  for  me  to  go  'round  im- 
pugnin'  the  motives  of  no  mountain  lion ;  partic'lar  when 
the  entire  tribe  is  strangers  to  me  complete.  But  still  a 
love  of  trooth  compels  me  to  concede  that  if  mountain 
lions  ain't  cowardly,  they're  shore  cautious  a  lot.  Cattle 
an'  calves  they  passes  up  as  too  bellicose,  an'  none  of  'em 
ever  faces  any  anamile  more  warlike  than  a  baby  colt  or 
mebby  a  half-grown  deer.  I'm  ridin'  along  the  Caliente 
once  when  I  hears  a  crashin'  in  the  bushes  on  the  bluff 
above — two  hundred  foot  high,  she  is,  an'  as  sheer  as  the 
walls  of  this  yere  tavern.  As  I  lifts  my  eyes,  a  fear- 
frenzied  mare  an'  colt  comes  chargin'  up  an'  projects 
themse'fs  over  the  precipice  an'  lands  in  the  valley  below. 
They're  dead  as  Joolius  Caesar  when  I  rides  onto  'em, 

98 


ALFRED    HENRY    LEWIS 

while  a  brace  of  mountain  lions  is  skirtin'  up  an'  down 
the  aige  of  the  bluff  they  leaps  from,  mewin'  an'  lashin' 
their  long-  tails  in  hot  enthoosiasm.  Shore,  the  cats  has 
been  chasin'  the  mare  an'  foal,  an'  tliey  locoes  'em  to 
that  extent  they  don't  know  where  they're  headin'  an' 
makes  the  death  jump  I  relates.  I  bangs  away  with  my 
six-shooter,  but  beyond  givin'  the  mountain  lions  a  con- 
vulsive start  I  can't  say  I  does  any  execootion.  They 
turns  an'  goes  streakin'  it  through  the  pine  woods  like  a 
drunkard  to  a  barn  raisin'. 

"Timid?  Shore!  They're  that  timid,  seminary  girls 
compared  to  'em  is  as  sternly  courageous  as  a  passel  of 
buccaneers.  Out  in  Mitchell's  canyon  a  couple  of  the 
Lee-Scott  riders  cuts  the  trail  of  a  mountain  lion  and  her 
two  kittens.  Now  whatever  do  you-all  reckon  this  old 
tabby  does?  Basely  deserts  her  offsprings  without  even 
barin'  a  tooth,  an'  the  cow-punchers  takes  'em  gently  by 
their  tails  an'  beats  out  their  joovenile  brains.  That's 
straight;  that  mother  lion  goes  swarmin'  up  the  canyon 
like  she  ain't  got  a  minute  to  live.  An'  you  can  gamble 
the  limit  that  where  a  anamile  sees  its  children  perish 
without  frontin'  up  for  war,  it  don't  possess  the  common- 
est roodiments  of  sand.    Sech,  son,  is  mountain  lions. 

"It's  one  evenin'  in  the  Red  Light  when  Colonel  Sterett, 
who's  got  through  his  day's  toil  on  that  Coyote  paper  he's 
editor  of,  onfolds  concernin'  a  panther  round-up  which 
he  pulls  off  in  his  yooth. 

"  'This  panther  hunt,'  says  Colonel  Sterett,  as  he  fills 
his  third  tumbler,  'occurs  when  mighty  likely  I'm  goin' 
on  seventeen  winters.  I'm  a  leader  among  my  young 
companions  at  the  time ;  in  fact,  I  allers  is.  An'  I'm  proud 
to  say  that  my  soopremacy  that  a-way  is  doo  to  the  dom'- 
nant  character  of  my  intellects.  I'm  ever  bright  an* 
sparklin'  as  a  child,  an'  I  recalls  how  my  aptitoode  for 

99 


COLONEL    STERETT'S    PANTHER    HUNT, 

learnin'  promotes  me  to  be  regyarded  as  the  smartest  lad 
in  my  set.  If  thar's  visitors  to  the  school,  or  if  the 
selectman  invades  that  academy  to  sort  o'  size  us  up,  the 
teacher  allers  plays  me  on  'em.  I'd  go  to  the  front  for  the 
outfit.  Which  I'm  wont  on  sech  harrowin'  o'casions  to 
recite  a  ode — the  teacher's  done  wrote  it  himse'f — an' 
which  is  entitled  Napoleon's  Mad  Career.  Thar's  twenty- 
four  stanzas  to  it;  an'  while  these  interlopin'  selectmen 
sets  thar  lookin'  owley  an'  sagacious,  I'd  wallop  loose 
with  the  twenty-four  verses,  stampin'  up  and  down,  an' 
accompanyin'  said  recitations  with  sech  a  multitood  of 
reckless  gestures,  it  comes  plenty  clost  to  backin'  every- 
body plumb  outen  the  room.  Yere's  the  first  verse : 

I'd  drink  an'  sw'ar  an'  r'ar  an'  t'ar 

An'  fall  down  in  the  mud, 
[While  the  y'earth  for  forty  miles  about 

Is  kivered  with  my  blood. 

"  *You-all  can  see  from  that  speciment  that  our  school- 
master ain't  simply  flirtin'  with  the  muses  when  he  origi- 
nates that  epic ;  no,  sir,  he  means  business ;  an'  whenever 
I  throws  it  into  the  selectmen,  I  does  it  jestice.  The  trus- 
tees used  to  silently  line  out  for  home  when  I  finishes,  an' 
never  a  yeep.  It  stuns  'em ;  it  shore  fills  'em  to  the  brim ! 

"  'As  I  gazes  r'arward,'  goes  on  the  Colonel,  as  by  one 
rapt  impulse  he  uplifts  both  his  eyes  an'  his  nosepaint,  *as 
I  gazes  r'arward,  I  says,  on  them  sun-filled  days,  an' 
speshul  if  ever  I  gets  betrayed  into  talkin'  about  'em,  I 
can  hardly  t'ar  myse'f  from  the  subject.  I  explains  yere- 
tofore,  that  not  only  by  inclination  but  by  birth,  I'm  a 
shore-enough  'ristocrat.  This  captaincy  of  local  fashion 
I  assoomes  at  a  tender  age.  I  wears  the  record  as  the  fv'st 
child  to  don  shoes  throughout  the  entire  summer  in  that 
neighborhood ;  an'  many  a  time  an'  oft  does  my  yoothful 

I  GO 


ALFRED    HENRY    LEWIS 

but  envy-eaten  compeers  lambaste  me  for  the  insultin'  in- 
novation. But  I  sticks  to  my  moccasins ;  an'  to-day  shoes 
in  the  Bloo  Grass  is  almost  as  yooniversal  as  the  licker 
habit. 

"  'Thar  dawns  a  hour,  however,  when  my  p'sition  in  the 
van  of  Kaintucky  ton  comes  within  a  ace  of  bein'  ser'ously 
shook.  It's  on  my  way  to  school  one  dewy  mornin'  when 
I  gets  involved  all  inadvertent  in  a  onhappy  rupture  with 
a  polecat.  I  never  does  know  how  the  misonderstandin' 
starts.  After  all,  the  seeds  of  said  dispoote  is  by  no  means 
important ;  it's  enough  to  say  that  polecat  finally  has  me 
thoroughly  convinced. 

"  'Followin'  the  difference  an'  my  defeat,  I'm  witless 
enough  to  keep  goin'  on  to  school,  whereas  I  should  have 
returned  homeward  an'  cast  myse'f  upon  my  parents  r.s  a 
sacred  trust.  Of  course,  when  I'm  in  school  I  don't  go 
impartin'  my  troubles  to  the  other  chil'en;  I  emyoolates 
the  heroism  of  the  Spartan  boy  who  stands  to  be  eat  by  a 
fox,  an'  keeps  'em  to  myself.  But  the  views  of  my  late 
enemy  is  not  to  be  smothered ;  they  appeals  to  my  young 
companions;  who  tharupon  puts  up  a  most  onneedful  riot 
of  coughin's  an'  sneezin's.  But  nobody  knows  me  as  the 
party  who's  so  pungent. 

"  'It's  a  tryin'  moment.  I  can  see  that,  once  I'm  lo- 
cated, I'm  goin'  to  be  as  onpop'lar  as  a  b'ar  in  a  hawg  pen ; 
I'll  come  tumblin'  from  my  pinnacle  in  that  proud  com- 
moonity  as  the  glass  of  fashion  an'  the  mold  of  form. 
You  can  go  your  bottom  peso,  the  thought  causes  me  to 
feel  plenty  perturbed. 

"  *At  this  peril  I  has  a  inspiration ;  as  good,  too,  as  I 
ever  entertains  without  the  aid  of  rum.  I  determines  to 
cast  the  opprobrium  on  some  other  boy  an'  send  the  hunt 
of  gen'ral  indignation  sweepin'  along  his  trail. 

"  'Thar's  a  innocent  infant  who's  a  stoodent  at  this 

lOI 


COLONEL    STERETT'S    PANTHER    HUNT 

temple  of  childish  learnin'  an'  his  name  is  Riley  Bark. 
This  Riley  is  one  of  them  giant  children  who's  only 
twelve  an'  weighs  three  hundred  pounds.  An'  in  propor- 
tions as  Riley  is  a  son  of  Anak,  physical,  he's  dwarfed 
mental ;  he  ain't  half  as  well  upholstered  with  brains  as  a 
shepherd  dog.  That's  right;  Riley's  intellects,  is  like  a 
fly  in  a  saucer  of  syrup,  they  struggles  'round  plumb  slow. 
I  decides  to  uplift  Riley  to  the  public  eye  as  the  felon 
who's  disturbin'  that  seminary's  sereenity.  Comin'  to  this 
decision,  I  p'ints  at  him  where  he's  planted  four  seats 
ahead,  all  tangled  up  In  a  spellin'  book,  an'  says  in  a  loud 
whisper  to  a  child  who's  sittin'  next : 

"'"Throw  him  out!" 

"  That's  enough.  No  gent  will  ever  realize  how  easy 
it  is  to  direct  a  people's  sentiment  ontil  he  take  a  whirl 
at  the  game.  In  two  minutes  by  the  teacher's  bull's-eye 
copper  watch,  every  soul  knows  it's  pore  Riley;  an'  in 
three,  the  teacher's  done  drug  Riley  out  doors  by  the  ha'r 
of  his  head  an'  chased  him  home.  Gents,  I  look  back  on 
that  yoothful  feat  as  a  triumph  of  diplomacy;  it  shore 
saved  my  standin'  as  the  Beau  Brummel  of  the  Bloo  Grass 

"  'Good  old  days,  them !'  observes  the  Colonel  mourn- 
fully, *an'  ones  never  to  come  ag'in !  My  sternest  studies 
is  romances,  an'  the  peroosals  of  old  tales  as  I  tells  you-all 
prior  fills  me  full  pf  moss  an'  mockin'  birds  in  equal  parts. 
I  reads  deep  of  Walter  Scott  an'  waxes  to  be  a  sharp  on 
Moslems  speshul.  I  dreams  of  the  Siege  of  Acre,  an' 
Richard  the  Lion  Heart;  an'  I  simply  can't  sleep  nights 
for  honin'  to  hold  a  tournament  an'  joust  a  whole  lot  for 
some  fair  lady's  love. 

"  'Once  I  commits  the  error  of  my  career  by  joustin' 
with  my  brother  Jeff.  This  yere  Jeff  is  settin'  on  the  bank 
of  the  Branch  fishin'  for  bullpouts  at  the  time,  an'  Jeff 
don't  know  I'm  hoverin'  near  at  all.  Jeff's  reedic'lous  fond 

102 


ALFRED    HENRY    LEWIS 

of  fishin' ;  which  he'd  sooner  fish  than  read  Paradise  Lost. 
I'm  romancin'  along,  sim'larly  bent,  when  I  notes  Jeff 
perched  on  the  bank.  To  my  boyish  imagination  Jeff  at 
once  turns  to  be  a  Paynim.  I  drops  my  bait  box,  couches 
my  fishpole,  an'  emittin'  a  impromptoo  warcry,  charges 
him.  It's  the  work  of  a  moment ;  Jeff's  onhossed  an'  falls 
into  the  Branch. 

*'  'But  thar's  bitterness  to  follow  vict'ry.  Jeff  emerges 
like  Diana  from  the  bath  an'  frales  the  wamus  off  me  with 
a  club.  Talk  of  puttin'  a  crimp  in  folks!  Gents,  when 
Jeff's  wrath  is  assuaged  I'm  all  on  one  side  like  the  lean- 
in'  tower  of  Pisa.  Jeff  actooally  confers  a  skew-gee  to 
my  spinal  column. 

"  'A  week  later  my  folks  takes  me  to  a  doctor.  That 
practitioner  puts  on  his  specs  an'  looks  me  over  with 
jealous  care. 

" '  "Whatever's  wrong  with  him,  Doc  ?"  says  my 
father. 

" '  "Nothin',"  says  the  physician,  "only  your  son 
Willyum's  five  inches  out  o'  plumb." 

"  'Then  he  rigs  a  contraption  made  up  of  guy-ropes 
an'  stay-laths,  an'  I  has  to  wear  it ;  an'  mebby  in  three  or 
four  weeks  or  so  he's  got  me  warped  back  into  the  per- 
pendic'lar.' 

"'But  how  about  this  cat  hunt?'  asks  Dan  Boggs. 
'Which  I  don't  aim  to  be  introosive  none,  but  I'm  camped 
yere  through  the  second  drink  waitin'  for  it,  an'  these  pro- 
crastinations is  makn'  me  kind  o'  batty.' 

"  'That  panther  hunt  is  like  this,'  says  the  Colonel, 
turnin'  to  Dan.  'At  the  age  of  seventeen,  me  an'  eight  or 
nine  of  my  intimate  brave  comrades  founds  what  we-all 
denom'nates  as  the  "Chevy  Chase  Huntin'  Club."  Each 
of  us  maintains  a  passel  of  odds  an'  ends  of  dogs,  an'  at 
stated  intervals  we  convenes  on  bosses,  an'  with  these 

103 


COLONEL    STERETT'S    PANTHER    HUNT 

fourscore  curs  at  our  tails  goes  yellin'  an'  skally-hootin' 
up  an'  down  the  countryside  allowin'  we're  shore  a  band 
of  Nimrods. 

"  'The  Chevy  Chasers  ain't  been  in  bein'  as  a  institoo- 
tion  over  long  when  chance  opens  a  gate  to  ser'ous  work. 
The  deep  snows  in  the  Eastern  mountains  it  looks  like 
has  done  drove  a  panther  into  our  neighborhood.  You 
could  hear  of  him  on  all  sides.  Folks  glimpses  him  now 
an'  then.  They  allows  he's  about  the  size  of  a  yearlin' 
calf;  an'  the  way  he  pulls  down  sech  feeble  people  as 
sheep  or  lays  desolate  some  he'pless  henroost  don't  bother 
him  a  bit.  This  panther  spreads  a  horror  over  the  county. 
Dances,  pra'er  meetin's,  an'  even  poker  parties  is  broken 
up,  an'  the  social  life  of  that  region  begins  to  bog  down. 
Even  a  weddin'  suffers ;  the  bridesmaids  stayin'  away  lest 
this  ferocious  monster  should  show  up  in  the  road  an' 
chaw  one  of  'em  while  she's  en  route  for  the  scene  of 
trouble.  That's  gospel  trooth!  the  pore  deserted  bride 
has  to  heel  an'  handle  herse'f  an'  never  a  friend  to  yoonite 
her  sobs  with  hers  doorin'  that  weddin'  ordeal.  The  old 
ladies  present  shakes  their  heads  a  heap  solemn. 

"  '  "It's  a  worse  augoory,"  says  one,  "than  the  hoots 
of  a  score  of  squinch  owls." 

"  'When  this  reign  of  terror  is  at  its  height,  the  local 
eye  is  rolled  appealin'ly  towards  us  Chevy  Chasers.  We 
rises  to  the  opportoonity.  Day  after  day  we're  ridin'  the 
hills  an'  vales,  readin'  the  milk  white  snow  for  tracks. 
An'  we  has  success.  One  mornin'  I  comes  up  on  two  of 
the  Brackenridge  boys  an'  five  more  of  the  Chevy  Chasers 
settin'  on  their  bosses  at  the  Skinner  cross  roads.  Bob 
Crittenden's  gone  to  turn  me  out,  they  says.  Then  they 
p'ints  down  to  a  handful  of  close-wove  bresh  an'  stunted 
timber  an'  allows  that  this  maraudin'  cat-o-mount  is  hid- 
In'  thar ;  they  sees  him  go  skulkin'  in. 

104 


ALFRED    HENRY    LEWIS 

"  'Gents,  I  ain't  above  admittin'  that  the  news  puts  my 
heart  to  a  canter.  I'm  brave;  but  conflicts  with  wild  an' 
savage  beasts  is  to  me  a  novehy  an'  while  I  faces  my  fate 
without  a  flutter,  I'm  yere  to  say  I'd  sooner  been  in  pur- 
soot  of  minks  or  raccoons  or  some  varmint  whose  griev- 
ous cap'bilities  I  can  more  ackerately  stack  up  an'  in  whose 
merry  ways  I'm  better  versed.  However,  the  dauntless 
blood  of  my  grandsire  mounts  in  my  cheek ;  an'  as  if  the 
shade  of  that  old  Trojan  is  thar  personal  to  su'gest  it,  I 
searches  forth  a  flask  an'  renoos  my  sperit ;  thus  qualified 
for  perils,  come  in  what  form  they  may,  I  resolootely 
stands  my  hand. 

"  'Thar's  forty  dogs  if  thar's  one  in  our  company  as 
we  pauses  at  the  Skinner  cross-roads.  An'  when  the  Crit- 
tenden yooth  returns,  he  brings  with  him  the  Rickett  boys 
an'  forty  added  dogs.  Which  it's  worth  a  ten-mile  ride  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  that  outfit  of  canines !  Thar's  every  sort 
onder  the  canopy:  thar's  the  stolid  hound,  the  alert  fice, 
the  sapient  collie;  that  is  thar's  individyool  beasts  wherein 
the  hound,  or  fice,  or  collie  seems  to  preedominate  as  a 
strain.  The  trooth  is  thar's  not  that  dog  a-whinin'  about 
our  bosses'  fetlocks  who  ain't  proudly  descended  from 
fifteen  different  tribes,  an'  they  shorely  makes  a  motley 
mass  meetin'.  Still,  they're  good,  zealous  dogs;  an'  as 
they're  going  to  go  for'ard  an'  take  most  of  the  resks  of 
that  panther,  it  seems  invidious  to  criticize  'em. 

"  'One  of  the  Twitty  boys  rides  down  an'  puts  the 
eighty  or  more  dogs  into  the  bresh.  The  rest  of  us  lays 
back  an'  strains  our  eyes.  Thar  he  is!  A  shout  goes  up 
as  we  descries  the  panther  stealin'  off  by  a  far  corner. 
He's  headin'  along  a  hollow  that's  full  of  bresh  an'  baby 
timber  an'  runs  parallel  with  the  pike.  Big  an'  yaller  he 
is ;  we  can  tell  from  the  slight  flash  we  gets  of  him  as  he 
darts  into  a  second  clump  of  bushes.   With  a  cry — what 

105 


COLONEL    STERETT'S    PANTHER    HUNT 

young  Crittenden  calls  a  "view  halloo," — we  goes  stam- 
peedin'  down  the  pike  in  pursoot. 

"  'Our  dogs  is  sta'nch ;  they  shore  does  themse'fs  proud. 
Singin'  in  twenty  keys,  reachin'  from  growls  to  yelps  an* 
from  yelps  to  shrillest  screams,  they  pushes  dauntlessly 
on  the  fresh  trail  of  their  terrified  quarry.  Now  an'  then 
we  gets  a  squint  of  the  panther  as  he  skulks  from  one 
copse  to  another  jest  ahead.  Which  he's  goin'  like  a 
arrow ;  no  mistake !  As  for  us  Chevy  Chasers,  we  paral- 
lels the  hunt,  an'  continyoos  poundin'  the  Skinner  turn- 
pike abreast  of  the  pack,  ever  an'  anon  givin'  a  encour- 
agin'  shout  as  we  briefly  sights  our  game. 

"  'Gents,'  says  Colonel  Sterett,  as  he  ag'in  refreshes 
hims'ef,  'it's  needless  to  go  over  that  hunt  in  detail.  We 
hustles  the  fly  in'  demon  full  eighteen  miles,  our  faithful 
dogs  crowdin'  close  an'  breathless  at  his  coward  heels. 
Still,  they  don't  catch  up  with  him ;  he  streaks  it  like  some 
saffron  meteor. 

"  'Only  once  does  we  approach  within  strikin'  distance ; 
that's  when  he  crosses  at  old  Stafford's  whisky  still.  As 
he  glides  into  view,  Crittenden  shouts : 

""'Thar  he  goes!" 

"  'For  myse'f  I'm  prepared.  I've  got  one  of  these  mis- 
guided cap-an'-ball  six-shooters  that's  built  doorin'  the 
war ;  an'  I  cuts  that  hardware  loose !  This  weapon  seems 
a  born  profligate  of  lead,  for  the  six  chambers  goes  off 
together.  Which  you  should  have  seen  the  Chevy  Chasers 
dodge!  An'  well  they  may;  that  broadside  ain't  in  vain! 
My  aim  is  so  troo  that  one  of  the  r'armost  dogs  evolves  a 
howl  an'  rolls  over ;  then  he  sets  up  gnawin'  an'  lickin'  his 
off  hind  laig  in  frantic  alternations.  That  hunt  is  done 
for  him.  We  leaves  him  doctorin'  himse'f  an'  picks  him 
up  two  hours  later  on  our  triumphant  return. 

"  'As  I  states,  we  harries  that  foogitive  panther  for 

1 06 


ALFRED    HENRY    LEWIS 

eighteen  miles  an'  in  our  hot  ardor  founders  two  hosses. 
Fatigue  an'  weariness  begins  to  overpower  us;  also  our 
prey  weakens  along  with  the  rest.  In  the  half  glimpses 
we  now  an'  ag'in  gets  of  him  it's  plain  that  both  pace  an' 
distance  is  tellin'  fast.  Still,  he  presses  on;  an'  as  thar's 
no  spur  like  fear,  that  panther  holds  his  distance. 

"  'But  the  end  comes.  We've  done  run  him  into  a 
rough,  wild  stretch  of  country  where  settlements  is  few 
an'  cabins  roode.  Of  a  sudden,  the  panther  emerges  onto 
the  road  an'  goes  rackin'  along  the  trail.  We  pushes  our 
spent  steeds  to  the  utmost. 

"  'Thar's  a  log  house  ahead ;  out  in  the  stump-filled  lot 
in  front  is  a  frowsy  woman  an'  five  small  children.  The 
panther  leaps  the  rickety  worm-fence  an'  heads  straight 
as  a  bullet  for  the  cl'arin !  Horrors !  the  sight  freezes  our 
marrows !  Mad  an'  savage,  he's  doo  to  bite  a  hunk  outen 
that  devoted  household !  Mutooally  callin'  to  each  other, 
we  goads  our  horses  to  the  utmost.  We  gain  on  the 
panther !  He  may  wound  but  he  won't  have  time  to  slay 
that  fam'ly. 

"  'Gents,  it's  a  soopreme  moment !  The  panther  makes 
for  the  female  squatter  an'  her  litter,  we  pantin'  an'  press- 
in'  clost  behind.  The  panther  is  among  'em ;  the  woman 
an'  the  children  seems  transfixed  by  the  awful  spectacle 
an'  stands  rooted  with  open  eyes  an'  mouths.  Our  emo- 
tions shore  beggars  deescriptions. 

"  'Now  ensooes  a  scene  to  smite  the  hardiest  of  us  with 
dismay.  No  sooner  does  the  panther  find  himse'f  in  the 
midst  of  that  he'pless  bevy  of  little  ones,  than  he  stops, 
turns  round  abrupt,  an'  sets  down  on  his  tail;  an'  then 
upliftin'  his  muzzle  he  busts  into  shrieks  an'  yells  an' 
howls  an'  cries,  a  complete  case  of  dog  hysterics !  That's 
what  he  is,  a  great  yeller  dog ;  his  reason  is  now  a  wrack 
because  we  harasses  him  the  eighteen  miles. 

107 


COLONEL    STERETT'S    PANTHER    HUNT 

"  'Thar's  a  ugly  outcast  of  a  squatter,  mattock  in  hand, 
comes  tumblin'  down  the  hillside  from  some'ers  out  back 
of  the  shanty  where  he's  been  grubbin' : 

"  '  "What  be  you-all  eediots  chasin'  my  dog  for  ?"  de- 
mands this  onkempt  party.  Then  he  menaces  us  with  the 
implement. 

"  *We  makes  no  retort  but  stands  passive.  The  great 
orange  brute  whose  nerves  has  been  torn  to  rags  creeps 
to  the  squatter  an'  with  mournful  howls  explains  what 
we've  made  him  suffer. 

"  *No,  thar's  nothin'  further  to  do  an'  less  to  be  said. 
That  cavalcade,  erstwhile  so  gala  an'  buoyant,  drags  it- 
self wearily  homeward,  the  exhausted  dogs  in  the  r'ar 
walkin'  stiff  an'  sore  like  their  laigs  is  wood.  For  more'n 
a  mile  the  complainin'  howls  of  the  hysterical  yeller  dog 
is  wafted  to  our  years.  Then  they  ceases ;  an'  we  figgers 
his  sympathizin'  master  has  done  took  him  into  the  shanty 
an'  shet  the  door. 

"  *No  one  comments  on  this  adventure,  not  a  word  is 
heard.  Each  is  silent  ontil  we  mounts  the  Big  Murray 
hill.  As  we  collects  ourse'fs  on  this  eminence  one  of  the 
Brackenridge  boys  holds  up  his  hand  for  a  halt.  "Gents," 
he  says,  as — bosses,  hunters  an'  dogs — we-all  gathers 
'round,  "gents,  I  moves  you  the  Chevy  Chase  Huntin' 
Club  yereby  stands  adjourned  sine  die."  Thar's  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  an'  then  as  by  one  impulse  every  gent,  boss 
an'  dog,  says  "Ay!"  It's  yoonanimous,  an'  from  that  hour 
till  now  the  Chevy  Chase  Huntin'  Club  ain't  been  nothin' 
save  tradition.  But  that  panther  shore  disappears;  it's 
the  end  of  his  vandalage ;  an'  ag'in  does  quadrilles,  pra'rs, 
an  poker  resoom  their  wonted  sway.  That's  the  end ;  an' 
now,  gents,  if  Black  Jack  will  caper  to  his  dooties  we'll 
uplift  pur  drooped  energies  with  the  usual  forty  drops.'  " 

io8 


WOUTER  VAN  TWILLER 

BY    WASHINGTON   IRVING 

It  was  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1629  that  Mynheer 
Wouter  Van  Twiller  was  appointed  governor  of  the  prov- 
ince of  Nieuw  Nederlandts,  under  the  commission  and 
control  of  their  High  Mightinesses  the  Lords  States  Gen- 
eral of  the  United  Netherlands,  and  the  privileged  West 
India  Company. 

This  renowned  old  gentleman  arrived  at  New  Amster- 
dam in  the  merry  month  of  June,  the  sweetest  month  in 
all  the  year;  when  dan  Apollo  seems  to  dance  up  the 
transparent  firmament, — when  the  robin,  the  thrush,  and 
a  thousand  other  wanton  songsters  make  the  woods  to  re- 
sound with  amorous  ditties,  and  the  luxurious  little  bob- 
lincoln  revels  among  the  clover-blossoms  of  the  meadows, 
— all  which  happy  coincidence  persuaded  the  old  dames  of 
New  Amsterdam,  who  were  skilled  in  the  art  of  foretell- 
ing events,  that  this  was  to  be  a  happy  and  prosperous 
administration. 

The  renowned  Wouter  (or  Walter)  Van  Twiller  was 
descended  from  a  long  line  of  Dutch  burgomasters,  who 
had  successively  dozed  away  their  lives  and  grown  fat 
upon  the  bench  of  magistracy  in  Rotterdam ;  and  who  had 
comported  themselves  with  such  singular  wisdom  and 
propriety,  that  they  were  never  either  heard  or  talked  of 
— which,  next  to  being  universally  applauded,  should  be 
the  object  of  ambition  of  all  magistrates  and  rulers. 

109 


WOUTER    VAN    TWILLER 

There  are  two  opposite  ways  by  which  some  men  make  a 
figure  in  the  world ;  one,  by  talking  faster  than  they  think, 
and  the  other,  by  holding  their  tongues  and  not  thinking 
at  all.  By  the  first,  many  a  smatterer  acquires  the  repu- 
tation of  a  man  of  quick  parts;  by  the  other,  many  a 
dunderpate,  like  the  owl,  the  stupidest  of  birds,  comes  to 
be  considered  the  very  type  of  wisdom.  This,  by  the  way, 
is  a  casual  remark,  which  I  would  not,  for  the  universe, 
have  it  thought  I  apply  to  Governor  Van  Twiller.  It  is 
true  he  was  a  man  shut  up  within  himself,  like  an  oyster, 
and  rarely  spoke,  except  in  monosyllables ;  but  then  it  was 
allowed  he  seldom  said  a  foolish  thing.  So  invincible  was 
his  gravity  that  he  was  never  known  to  laugh  or  even  to 
smile  through  the  whole  course  of  a  long  and  prosperous 
life.  Nay,  if  a  joke  were  uttered  in  his  presence,  that  set 
light-minded  hearers  in  a  roar,  it  was  observed  to  throw 
him  into  a  state  of  perplexity.  Sometimes  he  would  deign 
to  inquire  into  the  matter,  and  when,  after  much  explana- 
tion, the  joke  was  made  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff,  he  would 
continue  to  smoke  his  pipe  in  silence,  and  at  length,  knock- 
ing out  the  ashes,  would  exclaim,  "Well,  I  see  nothing  in 
all  that  to  laugh  about." 

With  all  his  reflective  habits,  he  never  made  up  his 
mind  on  a  subject.  His  adherents  accounted  for  this  by 
the  astonishing  magnitude  of  his  ideas.  He  conceived 
every  subject  on  so  grand  a  scale  that  he  had  not  room  in 
his  head  to  turn  it  over  and  examine  both  sides  of  it. 
Certain  it  is,  that  if  any  matter  Were  propounded  to  him 
on  which  ordinary  mortals  would  rashly  determine  at  first 
glance,  he  would  put  on  a  vague,  mysterious  look,  shake 
his  capacious  head,  smoke  some  time  in  profound  silence, 
and  at  length  observe,  that  "he  had  his  doubts  about  the 
matter" ;  which  gained  him  the  reputation  of  a  man  slow 
of  belief  and  not  easily  imposed  upon.    What  is  more,  it 

no 


WASHINGTON    IRVING 

gained  him  a  lasting  name ;  for  to  this  habit  of  the  mind 
has  been  attributed  his  surname  of  Twiller ;  which  is  said 
to  be  a  corruption  of  the  .original  Twijfler,  or,  in  plain 
English,  Doubter. 

The  person  of  this  illustrious  old  gentleman  was 
formed  and  proportioned  as  though  it  had  been  moulded 
by  the  hands  of  some  cunning  Dutch  statuary,  as  a  model 
of  majesty  and  lordly  grandeur.  He  was  exactly  five 
feet  six  inches  in  height,  and  six  feet  five  inches  in  cir- 
cumference. His  head  was  a  perfect  sphere,  and  of  such 
stupendous  dimensions,  that  Dame  Nature,  with  all  her 
sex's  ingenuity,  would  have  been  puzzled  to  construct  a 
neck  capable  of  supporting  it;  wherefore  she  wisely  de- 
clined the  attempt,  and  settled  it  firmly  on  the  top  of  his 
backbone,  just  between  the  shoulders.  His  body  was  ob- 
long, and  particularly  capacious  at  bottom;  which  was 
wisely  ordered  by  Providence,  seeing  that  he  was  a  man 
of  sedentary  habits,  and  very  averse  to  the  idle  labor  of 
walking.  His  legs  were  short,  but  sturdy  in  proportion 
to  the  weight  they  had  to  sustain ;  so  that  when  erect  he 
had  not  a  little  the  appearance  of  a  beer  barrel  on  skids. 
His  face,  that  infallible  index  of  the  mind,  presented  a 
vast  expanse,  unfurrowed  by  those  lines  and  angles  which 
disfigure  the  human  countenance  with  what  is  termed  ex- 
pression. Two  small  gray  eyes  twinkled  feebly  in  the 
midst,  like  two  stars  of  lesser  magnitude  in  a  hazy  firma- 
ment, and  his  full-fed  cheeks,  which  seemed  to  have  taken 
toll  of  everything  that  went  into  his  mouth,  were  curiously 
mottled  and  streaked  with  dusty  red,  like  a  spitzenberg 
apple. 

His  habits  were  as  regular  as  his  person.  He  daily 
took  his  four  stated  meals,  appropriating  exactly  an  hour 
to  each ;  he  smoked  and  doubted  eight  hours,  and  he  slept 
the  remaining  twelve  of  the  four-and-twenty.   Such  was 

III 


WOUTER    VAN    TWILLER 

the  renowned  Wouter  Van  Twiller, — a  true  philosopher, 
for  his  mind  was  either  elevated  above,  or  tranquilly  set- 
tled below,  the  cares  and  perplexities  of  this  world.  He 
had  lived  in  it  for  years,  without  feeling  the  least  curios- 
ity to  know  whether  the  sun  revolved  round  it,  or  it  round 
the  sun ;  and  he  had  watched,  for  at  least  half  a  century, 
the  smoke  curling  from  his  pipe  to  the  ceiling,  without 
once  troubling  his  head  with  any  of  those  numerous 
theories  by  which  a  philosopher  would  have  perplexed  his 
brain,  in  accounting  for  its  rising  above  the  surrounding 
atmosphere. 

In  his  council  he  presided  with  great  state  and  solem- 
nity. He  sat  in  a  huge  chair  of  solid  oak,  hewn  in  the 
celebrated  forest  of  the  Hague,  fabricated  by  an  experi- 
enced timmerman  of  Amsterdam,  and  curiously  carved 
about  the  arms  and  feet  into  exact  imitations  of  gigantic 
eagle's  claws.  Instead  of  a  scepter,  he  swayed  a  long 
Turkish  pipe,  wrought  with  jasmin  and  amber,  which 
had  been  presented  to  a  stadtholder  of  Holland  at  the 
conclusion  of  a  treaty  with  one  of  the  petty  Barbary  pow- 
ers. In  this  stately  chair  would  he  sit,  and  this  magnifi- 
cent pipe  would  he  smoke,  shaking  his  right  knee  with  a 
constant  motion,  and  fixing  his  eye  for  hours  together 
upon  a  little  print  of  Amsterdam,  which  hung  in  a  black 
frame  against  the  opposite  wall  of  the  council-chamber. 
Nay,  it  has  even  been  said,  that  when  any  deliberation  of 
extraordinary  length  and  intricacy  was  on  the  carpet,  the 
renowned  Wouter  would  shut  his  eyes  for  full  two  hours 
at  a  time,  that  he  might  not  be  disturbed  by  external  ob- 
jects; and  at  such  times  the  internal  commotion  of  his 
mind  was  evinced  by  certain  regular  guttural  sounds, 
which  his  admirers  declared  were  merely  the  noise  of  con- 
flict, made  by  his  contending  doubts  and  opinions. 

It  is  with  infinite  difficulty  I  have  been  enabled  to  col- 

112 


WASHINGTON    IRVING 

lect  these  biographical  anecdotes  of  the  great  man  under 
consideration.  The  facts  respecting  him  were  so  scat- 
tered and  vague,  and  divers  of  them  so  questionable  in 
point  of  authenticity,  that  I  have  had  to  give  up  the  search 
after  many,  and  decline  the  admission  of  still  more,  which 
would  have  tended  to  heighten  the  coloring  of  his  por- 
trait. 

I  have  been  the  more  anxious  to  delineate  fully  the  per- 
son and  habits  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  from  the  consider- 
ation that  he  was  not  only  the  first,  but  also  the  best  gov- 
ernor that  ever  presided  over  this  ancient  and  respectable 
province;  and  so  tranquil  and  benevolent  was  his  reign, 
that  I  do  not  find  throughout  the  whole  of  it  a  single  in- 
stance of  any  offender  being  brought  to  punishment, — a 
most  indubitable  sign  of  a  merciful  governor,  and  a  case 
unparalleled,  excepting  in  the  reign  of  the  illustrious 
King  Log,  from  whom,  it  is  hinted,  the  renowned  Van 
Twiller  was  a  lineal  descendant. 

The  very  outset  of  the  career  of  this  excellent  magis-^ 
trate  was  distinguished  by  an  example  of  legal  acumen, 
that  gave  flattering  presage  of  a  wise  and  equitable  ad- 
ministration. The  morning  after  he  had  been  installed  in 
ofiice,  and  at  the  moment  that  he  was  making  his  break- 
fast from  a  prodigious  earthen  dish,  filled  with  milk  and 
Indian  pudding,  he  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of 
Wandle  Schoonhoven,  a  very  important  old  burgher  of 
New  Amsterdam,  who  complained  bitterly  of  one  Barent 
Bleecker,  inasmuch  as  he  refused  to  come  to  a  settlement 
of  accounts,  seeing  that  there  was  a  heavy  balance  in  favor 
of  the  said  Wandle.  Governor  Van  Twiller,  as  I  have  al- 
ready observed,  was  a  man  of  few  words;  he  was  like- 
wise a  mortal  enemy  to  multiplying  writings — or  being 
disturbed  at  his  breakfast.  Having  listened  attentively  to 
the  statement  of  Wandle  Schoonhoven,  giving  an  ocea- 
ns 


,WOUTER   VAN   TWILLER 

sional  grunt,  as  he  shoveled  a  spoonful  of  Indian  pudding 
into  his  mouth, — either  as  a  sign  that  he  relished  the  dish, 
or  comprehended  the  story, — he  called  unto  him  his  con- 
stable, and  pulling  out  of  his  breeches-pocket  a  huge  jack- 
knife,  dispatched  it  after  the  defendant  as  a  summons, 
accompanied  by  his  tobacco-box  as  a  warrant. 

This  summary  process  was  as  effectual  in  those  simple 
days  as  was  the  seal-ring  of  the  great  Haroun  Alraschid 
among  the  true  believers.  The  two  parties  being  con- 
fronted before  him,  each  produced  a  book  of  accounts, 
written  in  a  language  and  character  that  would  have  puz- 
zled any  but  a  High-Dutch  commentator,  or  a  learned  de- 
cipherer of  Egyptian  obelisks.  The  sage  Wouter  took 
them  one  after  the  other,  and  having  poised  them  in  his 
hands,  and  attentively  counted  over  the  number  of  leaves, 
fell  straightway  into  a  very  great  doubt,  and  smoked  for 
half  an  hour  without  saying  a  word ;  at  length,  laying  his 
finger  beside  his  nose,  and  shutting  his  eyes  for  a  moment, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  just  caught  a  subtle  idea 
by  the  tail,  he  slowly  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  puffed 
forth  a  column  of  tobacco-smoke,  and  with  marvelous 
gravity  and  solemnity  pronounced,  that,  having  carefully 
counted  over  the  leaves  and  weighed  the  books,  it  was 
found,  that  one  was  just  as  thick  and  as  heavy  as  the 
other:  therefore,  it  was  the  final  opinion  of  the  court  that 
the  accounts  were  equally  balanced:  therefore,  Wandle 
should  give  Barent  a  receipt,  and  Barent  should  give 
Wandle  a  receipt,  and  the  constable  should  pay  the  costs. 

This  decision,  being  straightway  made  known,  diffused 
general  joy  throughout  New  Amsterdam,  for  the  people 
immediately  perceived  that  they  had  a  very  wise  and 
equitable  magistrate  to  rule  over  them.  But  its  happiest 
effect  was,  that  not  another  lawsuit  took  place  throughout 
the  whole  of  his  administration ;  and  the  office  of  constable 

114 


WASHINGTON   IRVING 

fell  into  such  decay,  that  there  was  not  one  of  those  losel 
scouts  known  in  the  province  for  many  years.  I  am  the 
more  particular  in  dwelling  on  this  transaction,  not  only 
because  I  deem  it  one  of  the  most  sage  and  righteous 
judgments  on  record,  and  well  worthy  the  attention  of 
modern  magistrates,  but  because  it  was  a  miraculous  event 
in  the  history  of  the  renowned  Wouter — being  the  only 
time  he  was  ever  known  to  come  to  a  decision  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  life. 


it^ 


THE  EXPERIENCES  OF  THE  A.  C 

BY    BAYARD   TAYLOR 

"Bridgeport!  Change  cars  for  the  Naugatuck  Rail- 
road !"  shouted  the  conductor  of  the  New  York  and  Bos- 
ton Express  Train,  on  the  evening  of  May  27,  1858.  .  .  . 
Mr.  Johnson,  carpet-bag  in  hand,  jumped  upon  the  plat- 
form, entered  the  office,  purchased  a  ticket  for  Water- 
bury,  and  was  soon  whirling  in  the  Naugatuck  train 
towards  his  destination. 

On  reaching  Waterbury,  in  the  soft  spring  twilight, 
Mr.  Johnson  walked  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  station, 
curiously  scanning  the  faces  of  the  assembled  crowd. 
Presently  he  noticed  a  gentleman  who  was  performing 
the  same  operation  upon  the  faces  of  the  alighting  pas- 
sengers. Throwing  himself  directly  in  the  way  of  the 
latter,  the  two  exchanged  a  steady  gaze.  1 

"Is  your  name  Billings?"  "Is  your  name  Johnson?" 
were  simultaneous  questions,  followed  by  the  simultane- 
ous exclamations, — "Ned!"   "Enos!" 

Then  there  was  a  crushing  grasp  of  hands,  repeated 
after  a  pause,  in  testimony  of  ancient  friendship,  and 
Mr.  Billings,  returning  to  practical  life,  asked : 

"Is  that  all  your  baggage?  Come,  I  have  a  buggy 
here:  Eunice  has  heard  the  whistle,  and  she  '11  be  impa- 
tient to  welcome  you." 

The  impatience  of  Eunice  (Mrs.  Billings,  of  course) 
was  not  of  long  duration;  for  in  five  minutes  thereafter 
she  stood  at  the  door  of  her  husband's  chocolate-colored 
villa,  receiving  his  friend.    .    .    . 

116 


BAYARD  TAYLOR 

J.  Edward  Johnson  was  a  tall,  thin  gentleman  of  forty- 
five.  ...  A  year  before,  some  letters,  signed  "Foster, 
Kirkup  &  Co.,  per  Enos  Billings,"  had  accidently  re- 
vealed to  him  the  whereabouts  of  the  old  friend  of  his 
youth,  with  whom  we  now  find  him  domiciled.    .    .    . 

"Enos,"  said  he,  as  he  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the 
third  cup  of  tea  (which  he  had  taken  only  for  the  pur- 
pose of  prolonging  the  pleasant  table-chat),  "I  wonder 
which  of  us  is  most  changed." 

"You,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Billings,  "with  your  brown 
face  and  big  moustache.  Your  own  brother  would  n't 
have  known  you,  if  he  had  seen  you  last,  as  I  did,  with 
smooth  cheeks  and  hair  of  unmerciful  length.  Why,  not 
even  your  voice  is  the  same !" 

"That  is  easily  accounted  for,"  replied  Mr.  Johnson. 
"But  in  your  case,  Enos,  I  am  puzzled  to  find  where  the 
difference  lies.  Your  features  seem  to  be  but  little 
changed,  now  that  I  can  examine  them  at  leisure;  yet  it 
is  not  the  same  face.  But  really,  I  never  looked  at  you 
for  so  long  a  time,  in  those  days.  I  beg  pardon;  you 
used  to  be  so — so  remarkably  shy." 

i  Mr.  Billings  blushed  slightly,  and  seemed  at  a  loss 
what  to  answer.  His  wife,  however,  burst  into  a  merry 
laugh,  exclaiming : 

"Oh,  that  was  before  the  days  of  the  A.  C  !" 

He,  catching  the  infection,  laughed  also ;  in  fact,  Mr. 
Johnson  laughed,  but  without  knowing  why. 

"The  'A.  C!"  said  Mr.  Billings.  "Bless  me,  Eunice! 
how  long  it  is  since  we  have  talked  of  that  summer!  I 
had  almost  forgotten  that  there  ever  was  an  A.  C.  .  .  . 
Well,  the  A.  C.  culminated  in  '45.  You  remember  some- 
thing of  the  society  of  Norridgeport,  the  last  winter  you 
were  there?   Abel  Mallory,  for  instance?" 

"Let  me  think  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  reflec- 

117 


THE    EXPERIENCES    OF    THE   A.    C 

tively.  "Really,  It  seems  like  looking  back  a  hundred 
years.  Mallory, — was  n't  that  the  sentimental  young 
man,  with  wispy  hair,  a  tallowy  skin,  and  big,  sweaty 
hands,  who  used  to  be  spouting  Carlyle  on  the  'reading 
evenings'  at  Shelldrake's  ?  Yes,  to  be  sure ;  and  there 
was  Hollins,  with  his  clerical  face  and  infidel  talk, — 
and  Pauline  Ringtop,  who  used  to  say,  'The  Beautiful  is 
the  Good.'  I  can  still  hear  her  shrill  voice  singing,  'Would 
that  /  were  beautiful,  would  that  /  were  fair !'  " 

There  was  a  hearty  chorus  of  laughter  at  poor  Miss 
RIngtop's  expense.  It  harmed  no  one,  however;  for  the 
tar-weed  was  already  becoming  thick  over  her  Californlan 
grave. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Billings,  "you  still  remember 
the  absurdities  of  those  days.  In  fact,  I  think  you  par- 
tially saw  through  them  then.  But  I  was  younger,  and 
far  from  being  so  clear-headed,  and  I  looked  upon  those 
evenings  at  Shelldrake's  as  being  equal,  at  least,  to  the 
symposia  of  Plato.  Something  In  Mallory  always  re- 
pelled me.  I  detested  the  sight  of  his  thick  nose,  with  the 
flaring  nostrils,  and  his  coarse,  half-formed  lips,  of  the 
bluish  color  of  raw  corned-beef.  But  I  looked  upon  these 
feelings  as  unreasonable  prejudices,  and  strove  to  con- 
quer them,  seeing  the  admiration  which  he  received  from 
others.  He  was  an  oracle  on  the  subject  of  'Nature.' 
Having  eaten  nothing  for  two  years,  except  Graham 
bread,  vegetables  without  salt,  and  fruits,  fresh  or  dried, 
he  considered  himself  to  have  attained  an  antediluvian 
purity  of  health, — or  that  he  would  attain  It,  so  soon  as 
two  pimples  on  his  left  temple  should  have  healed.  These 
pimples  he  looked  upon  as  the  last  feeble  stand  made  by 
the  pernicious  juices  left  from  the  meat  he  had  formerly 
eaten  and  the  coffee  he  had  drunk.  His  theory  was,  that 
through  a  body  so  purged  and  purified  none  but  true  and 

ii8 


BAYARD   TAYLOR 

natural  impulses  could  find  access  to  the  soul.   Such,  in- 
deed, was  the  theory  we  all  held.     .     .     . 

"Shelldrake  was  a  man  of  more  pretense  than  real  culti- 
vation, as  I  afterwards  discovered.  He  was  in  good  cir- 
cumstances, and  always  glad  to  receive  us  at  his  house, 
as  this  made  him  virtually  the  chief  of  our  tribe,  and  the 
outlay  for  refreshments  involved  only  the  apples  from 
his  own  orchard,  and  water  from  his  well.    .    .    . 

"Well,  't  was  in  the  early  part  of  '45, — I  think  in 
April, — when  we  were  all  gathered  together,  discussing, 
as  usual,  the  possibility  of  leading  a  life  in  accordance 
with  Nature.  Abel  Mallory  was  there,  and  Hollins,  and 
Miss  Ringtop,  and  Faith  Levis,  with  her  knitting, — and 
also  Eunice  Hazleton,  a  lady  whom  you  have  never  seen, 
but  you  may  take  my  wife  as  her  representative.    .    .    . 

"I  wish  I  could  recollect  some  of  the  speeches  made  on 
that  occasion.  Abel  had  but  one  pimple  on  his  temple 
(there  was  a  purple  spot  where  the  other  had  been),  and 
was  estimating  that  in  two  or  three  months  more  he 
would  be  a  true,  unspoiled  man.  His  complexion,  never- 
theless, was  more  clammy  and  whey-like  than  ever. 

"  *Yes,'  said  he,  *I  also  am  an  Arcadian !  This  false 
dual  existence  which  I  have  been  leading  will  soon  be 
merged  in  the  unity  of  Nature.  Our  lives  must  conform 
to  her  sacred  law.  Why  can't  we  strip  off  these  hollow 
Shams'  (he  made  great  use  of  that  word),  'and  be  our 
true  selves,  pure,  perfect,  and  divine  ?'    .    .    . 

"Shelldrake,  however,  turning  to  his  wife,  said, — 

"  'Elviry,  how  many  up-stairs  rooms  is  there  in  that 
house  down  on  the  Sound  ?' 

"  'Four, — besides  three  small  ones  under  the  roof. 
Why,  what  made  you  think  of  that,  Jesse?'  said  she. 

"  'I've  got  an  idea,  while  Abel's  been  talking,'  he  an- 
swered.   *We  've  taken  a  house  for  the  summer,  down 

119 


THE    EXPERIENCES    OF    THE    A.    C. 

the  other  side  of  Bridgeport,  right  on  the  water,  where 
there  's  good  fishing  and  a  fine  view  of  the  Sound.  Now, 
there  's  room  enough  for  all  of  us, — at  least,  all  that 
can  make  it  suit  to  go.  Abel,  you  and  Enos,  and  Pauline 
and  Eunice  might  fix  matters  so  that  we  could  all  take 
the  place  in  partnership,  and  pass  the  summer  together, 
living  a  true  and  beautiful  life  in  the  bosom  of  Nature. 
There  we  shall  be  perfectly  free  and  untrammelled  by 
the  chains  which  still  hang  around  us  in  Norridgeport. 
You  know  how  often  we  have  wanted  to  be  set  on  some 
island  in  the  Pacific  Ocean,  where  we  could  build  up  a  true 
society,  right  from  the  start.  Now,  here  's  a  chance  to 
try  the  experiment  for  a  few  months,  anyhow.' 

''Eunice  clapped  her  hands  (yes,  you  did!)  and  cried 
out, — 

"  'Splendid !  Arcadian !  I'll  give  up  my  school  for  the 
summer.'    .    .    . 

"Abel  Mallory,  of  course,  did  not  need  to  have  the 
proposal  repeated.  He  was  ready  for  anything  which 
promised  indolence  and  the  indulgence  of  his  sentimental 
tastes.  I  will  do  the  fellow  the  justice  to  say  that  he  was 
not  a  hypocrite.  He  firmly  believed  both  in  himself  and 
his  ideas, — especially  the  former.  He  pushed  both  hands 
through  the  long  wisps  of  his  drab-colored  hair,  and 
threw  his  head  back  until  his  wide  nostrils  resembled  a 
double  door  to  his  brain. 

"  'O  Nature !'  he  said,  'you  have  found  your  lost  chil- 
dren !  We  shall  obey  your  neglected  laws  I  we  shall 
hearken  to  your  divine  whispers !  we  shall  bring  you  back 
from  your  ignominious  exile,  and  place  you  on  your  an- 
cestral throne !'    .    .    . 

"The  company  was  finally  arranged  to  consist  of  the 
Shelldrakes,  Hollins,  Mallory,  Eunice,  Miss  Ringtop,  and 
myself.    We  did  not  give  much  thought,  either  to  the 

I20 


BAYARD  TAYLOR 

preparations  in  advance,  or  to  our  mode  of  life  when  set- 
tled there.  We  were  to  live  near  to  Nature :  that  was  the 
main  thing. 

"  'What  shall  we  call  the  place  ?'  asked  Eunice. 

"  'Arcadia !'  said  Abel  Mallory,  rolling  up  his  large 
green  eyes. 

"  'Then,'  said  Hollins,  'let  us  constitute  ourselves  the 
Arcadian  Club !' " 

— "Aha!"  interrupted  Mr.  Johnson,  "I  see!  The 
A.  C !" 

"Yes,  you  see  the  A.  C.  now,  but  to  understand  it  fully 
you  should  have  had  a  share  in  those  Arcadian  expe- 
riences. ...  It  was  a  lovely  afternoon  in  June  when 
we  first  approached  Arcadia.  .  .  .  Perkins  Brown, 
Shelldrake's  boy-of-all-work,  awaited  us  at  the  door. 
He  had  been  sent  on  two  or  three  days  in  advance,  to  take 
charge  of  the  house,  and  seemed  to  have  had  enough  of 
hermit-life,  for  he  hailed  us  with  a  wild  whoop,  throwing 
his  straw  hat  half-way  up  one  of  the  poplars.  Perkins 
was  a  boy  of  fifteen,  the  child  of  poor  parents,  who  were 
satisfied  to  get  him  off  their  hands,  regardless  as  to  what 
humanitarian  theories  might  be  tested  upon  him.  As  the 
Arcadian  Club  recognized  no  such  thing  as  caste,  he  was 
always  admitted  to  our  meetings,  and  understood  just 
enough  of  our  conversation  to  excite  a  silly  ambition  in 
his  slow  mind.    .    .    . 

"Our  board,  that  evening,  was  really  tempting.  The 
absence  of  meat  was  compensated  to  us  by  the  crisp  and 
racy  onions,  and  I  craved  only  a  little  salt,  which  had  been 
interdicted,  as  a  most  pernicious  substance.  I  sat  at  one 
corner  of  the  table,  beside  Perkins  Brown,  who  took  an 
opportunity,  while  the  others  were  engaged  in  conversa- 
tion, to  jog  my  elbow  gently.  As  I  turned  towards  him, 
he  said  nothing,  but  dropped  his  eyes  significantly.   The 

121 


THE   EXPERIENCES   OF   THE  Av   C. 

little  rascal  had  the  lid  of  a  blacking-box,  filled  with  salt, 
upon  his  knee,  and  was  privately  seasoning  his  onions 
and  radishes.  I  blushed  at  the  thought  qi  my  hypocrisy, 
but  the  onions  were  so  much  better  that  I  could  n't  help 
dipping  into  the  lid  with  him. 

**  *Oh,'  said  Eunice,  'we  must  send  for  some  oil  and 
vinegar !  This  lettuce  is  very  nice.' 

"  'Oil  and  vinegar  ?'  exclaimed  Abel. 

"  'Why,  yes,'  said  she,  innocently :  'they  are  both  vege- 
table substances.' 

"Abel  at  first  looked  rather  foolish,  but  quickly  re- 
covering himself,  said, — 

"  'All  vegetable  substances  are  not  proper  for  food : 
you  would  not  taste  the  poison-oak,  or  sit  under  the  upas- 
tree  of  Java.' 

"  'Well,  Abel,'  Eunice  rejoined,  'how  are  we  to  distin- 
guish what  is  best  for  us?  How  are  we  to  know  what 
vegetables  to  choose,  or  what  animal  and  mineral  sub- 
stances to  avoid  ?' 

"  'I  will  tell  you,'  he  answered,  with  a  lofty  air.  *See 
here !'  pointing  to  his  temple,  where  the  second  pimple — 
either  from  the  change  of  air,  or  because,  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  last  few  days,  he  had  forgotten  it — was  actu- 
ally healed.  'My  blood  is  at  last  pure.  The  struggle  be- 
tween the  natural  and  the  unnatural  is  over,  and  I  am 
beyond  the  depraved  influences  of  my  former  taste.  My 
instincts  are  now,  therefore,  entirely  pure  also.  What  is 
good  for  man  to  eat,  that  I  shall  have  a  natural  desire  to 
eat :  what  is  bad  will  be  naturally  repelled.  How  does  the 
cow  distinguish  between  the  wholesome  and  the  poison- 
ous herbs  of  the  meadow  ?  And  is  man  less  than  a  cow, 
that  he  can  not  cultivate  his  instincts  to  an  equal  point? 
Let  me  walk  through  the  woods  and  I  can  tell  you  every 
berry  and  root  which  God  designed  for  food,  though  I 

122 


BAYARD  TAYLOR 

know  not  its  name,  and  have  never  seen  it  before.  I  shall 
make  use  of  my  time,  during  our  sojourn  here,  to  test,  by 
my  purified  instinct,  every  substance,  animal,  mineral,  and 
vegetable,  upon  which  the  human  race  subsists,  and  to 
create  a  catalogue  of  the  True  Food  of  Man!'    .    .    . 

"Our  lazy  life  during  the  hot  weather  had  become  a 
little  monotonous.  The  Arcadian  plan  had  worked  tolera- 
bly well,  on  the  whole,  for  there  was  very  little  for  any 
one  to  do, — Mrs.  Shelldrake  and  Perkins  Brown  except- 
ed. Our  conversation,  however,  lacked  spirit  and  variety. 
We  were,  perhaps  unconsciously,  a  little  tired  of  hearing 
and  assenting  to  the  same  sentiments.  But,  one  evening, 
about  this  time,  Hollins  struck  upon  a  variation,  the  con- 
sequences of  which  he  little  foresaw.  We  had  been  read- 
ing one  of  Bulwer's  works  (the  weather  was  too  hot  for 
Psychology),  and  came  upon  this  paragraph,  or  some- 
thing like  it : 

"  'Ah,  Behind  the  Veil !  We  see  the  summer  smile  of 
the  Earth, — enamelled  meadow  and  limpid  stream, — but 
what  hides  she  in  her  sunless  heart  ?  Caverns  of  serpents, 
pr  grottoes  of  priceless  gems?  Youth,  whose  soul, sits  on 
thy  countenance,  thyself  wearing  no  mask,  strive  not  to 
lift  the  masks  of  others !  Be  content  with  what  thou 
seest;  and  wait  until  Time  and  Experience  shall  teach 
thee  to  find  jealousy  behind  the  sweet  smile,  and  hatred 
under  the  honeyed  word !' 

"This  seemed  to  us  a  dark  and  bitter  reflection;  but 
one  or  another  of  us  recalled  some  illustration  of  human 
hypocrisy,  and  the  evidences,  by  the  simple  fact  of  repe- 
tition, gradually  led  to  a  division  of  opinion, — Hollins, 
Shelldrake,  and  Miss  Ringtop  on  the  dark  side,  and  the 
rest  of  us  on  the  bright.  The  last,  however,  contented 
herself  with  quoting  from  her  favorite  poet  Gamaliel  J. 
Gawthrop : 

123 


THE   EXPERIENCES    OF    THE   A.    C. 

"  *I  look  beyond  thy  brow's  concealment ! 
I  see  thy  spirit's  dark  revealment! 
Thy  inner  self  betrayed  I  see : 
Thy  coward,  craven,  shivering  Me.* 

"  *We  think  we  know  one  another,'  exclaimed  Hollins; 
'but  do  we?  We  see  the  faults  of  others,  their  weak- 
nesses, their  disagreeable  qualities,  and  we  keep  silent. 
How  much  we  should  gain,  were  candor  as  universal  as 
concealment !  Then  each  one,  seeing  himself  as  others  see 
him,  would  truly  know  himself.  How  much  misunder- 
standing might  be  avoided,  how  much  hidden  shame  be 
removed,  hopeless  because  unspoken  love  made  glad, 
honest  admiration  cheer  its  object,  uttered  sympathy 
mitigate  misfortune, — in  short,  how  much  brighter  and 
happier  the  world  would  become,  if  each  one  expressed, 
everywhere  and  at  all  times,  his  true  and  entire  feeling ! 
Why,  even  Evil  would  lose  half  its  power !' 

"There  seemed  to  be  so  much  practical  wisdom  in  these 
views  that  we  were  all  dazzled  and  half-convinced  at  the 
start.  So,  when  Hollins,  turning  towards  me,  as  he  con- 
tinued, exclaimed, — 'Come,  why  should  not  this  candor 
be  adopted  in  our  Arcadia?  Will  any  one — will  you, 
Enos — commence  at  once  by  telling  me  now — to  my  face 
— my  principal  faults?'  I  answered,  after  a  moment's 
reflection, — 'You  have  a  great  deal  of  intellectual  arro- 
gance, and  you  are,  physically,  very  indolent.' 

"He  did  not  flinch  from  the  self-invited  test,  though  he 
looked  a  little  surprised. 

"  'Well  put,'  said  he,  'though  I  do  not  say  that  you  are 
entirely  correct.   Now,  what  are  my  merits  ?' 

"  'You  are  clear-sighted,'  I  answered,  'an  earnest  seeker 
after  truth,  and  courageous  in  the  avowal  of  your 
thoughts.' 

"This  restored  the  balance,  and  we  soon  began  to  con- 

124 


BAYARD    TAYLOR 

fess  our  own  private  faults  and  weaknesses.  Though  the 
confessions  did  not  go  very  deep, — no  one  betraying  any 
thing  we  did  not  all  know  already, — yet  they  were  suf- 
ficient to  strengthen  Hollins  in  his  new  idea,  and  it  was 
unanimously  resolved  that  Candor  should  thenceforth  be 
the  main  charm  of  our  Arcadian  life.    .    .    . 

"The  next  day,  Abel,  who  had  resumed  his  researches 
after  the  True  Food,  came  home  to  supper  with  a  health- 
ier color  than  I  had  before  seen  on  his  face. 

"  *Do  you  know,'  said  he,  looking  shyly  at  Hollins, 
*that  I  begin  to  think  Beer  must  be  a  natural  beverage? 
There  was  an  auction  in  the  village  to-day,  as  I  passed 
through,  and  I  stopped  at  a  cake-stand  to  get  a  glass  of 
water,  as  it  was  very  hot.  There  was  no  water, — only 
beer :  so  I  thought  I  would  try  a  glass,  simply  as  an  ex- 
periment. Really,  the  flavor  was  very  agreeable.  And  it 
occurred  to  me,  on  the  way  home,  that  all  the  elements 
contained  in  beer  are  vegetable.  Besides,  fermentation 
is  a  natural  process.  I  think  the  question  has  never  been 
properly  tested  before.' 

"  'But  the  alcohol !'  exclaimed  Hollins. 

"  *I  could  not  distinguish  any,  either  by  taste  or  smell. 
I  know  that  chemical  analysis  is  said  to  show  it ;  but  may 
not  the  alcohol  be  created,  somehow,  during  the  analysis  ?' 

"  'Abel,'  said  Hollins,  in  a  fresh  burst  of  candor,  'you 
will  never  be  a  Reformer,  until  you  possess  some  of  the 
commonest  elements  of  knowledge.' 

"The  rest  of  us  were  much  diverted :  it  was  a  pleasant 
relief  to  our  monotonous  amiability. 

"Abel,  however,  had  a  stubborn  streak  in  his  character. 
The  next  day  he  sent  Perkins  Brown  to  Bridgeport  for  a 
dozen  bottles  of  'Beer.'  Perkins,  either  intentionally  or 
by  mistake,  (I  always  suspected  the  former,)  brought 
pint-bottles  of  Scotch  ale,  which  he  placed  in  the  coolest 

125 


THE    EXPERIENCES    OF   THE   A.    C. 

part  of  the  cellar.  The  evening  happened  to  be  exceed- 
ingly hot  and  sultry;  and,  as  we  were  all  fanning  our- 
selves and  talking  languidly,  Abel  bethought  him  of  his 
beer.  In  his  thirst,  he  drank  the  contents  of  the  first 
bottle,  almost  at  a  single  draught. 

"  'The  effect  of  beer,'  said  he,  'depends,  I  think,  on  the 
commixture  of  the  nourishing  principle  of  the  grain  with 
the  cooling  properties  of  the  water.  Perhaps,  hereafter, 
a  liquid  food  of  the  same  character  may  be  invented, 
which  shall  save  us  from  mastication  and  all  the  diseases 
of  the  teeth.* 

"Hollins  and  Shelldrake,  at  his  invitation,  divided  a 
bottle  between  them,  and  he  took  a  second.  The  potent 
beverage  was  not  long  in  acting  on  a  brain  so  unaccus- 
tomed to  its  influence.  He  grew  unusually  talkative  and 
sentimental,  in  a  few  minutes. 

"  'Oh,  sing,  somebody !'  he  sighed  in  hoarse  rapture : 
'the  night  was  made  for  Song.' 

"Miss  Ringtop,  nothing  loath,  immediately  com- 
menced, 'When  stars  are  in  the  quiet  skies' ;  but  scarcely 
had  she  finished  the  first  verse  before  Abel  interrupted  her. 

*'  'Candor's  the  order  of  the  day,  isn't  it?'  he  asked. 

"  'Yes !'   'Yes !'  two  or  three  answered. 

"  'Well,  then,'  said  he,  'candidly,  Pauline,  you've  got 
the  darn'dest  squeaky  voice' — 

"Miss  Ringtop  gave  a  faint  little  scream  of  horror. 

"  'Oh,  never  mind !'  he  continued.  'We  act  according 
to  impulse,  don't  we?  And  I've  the  impulse  to  swear; 
and  it's  right.  Let  Nature  have  her  way.  Listen !  Damn, 
damn,  damn,  damn !  I  never  knew  it  was  so  easy.  Why, 
there's  a  pleasure  in  it !  Try  it,  Pauline !  try  it  on  me !' 

"  'Oh-ooh !'  was  all  Miss  Ringtop  could  utter. 

"  'Abel !  Abel !'  exclaimed  Hollins,  'the  beer  has  got 
into  your  head.' 

126 


BAYARD    TAYLOR 

"*No,  it  Isn't  Beer,— it's  Candor!'  said  Abel.  "It's 
your  own  proposal,  Hollins.  Suppose  it's  evil  to  swear: 
isn't  it  better  I  should  express  it,  and  be  done  with  it, 
than  keep  it  bottled  up,  to  ferment  in  my  mind?  Oh, 
you're  a  precious,  consistent  old  humbug,  you  are !' 

"And  therewith  he  jumped  off  the  stoop,  and  went 
dancing  awkwardly  down  toward  the  water,  singing  in  a 
most  unmelodious  voice,  *  'T  is  home  where'er  the  heart 
is.'     .     .     . 

"We  had  an  unusually  silent  breakfast  the  next  morn- 
ing. Abel  scarcely  spoke,  which  the  others  attributed  to 
a  natural  feeling  of  shame,  after  his  display  of  the  previ- 
ous evening.  Hollins  and  Shelldrake  discussed  Temper- 
ance, with  a  special  view  to  his  edification,  and  Miss 
Ringtop  favored  us  with  several  quotations  about  'the 
maddening  bowl,' — but  he  paid  no  attention  to  them.  .  .  . 

"The  forenoon  was  overcast,  with  frequent  showers. 
Each  one  occupied  his  or  her  room  until  dinner-time, 
when  we  met  again  with  something  of  the  old  geniality. 
There  was  an  evident  effort  to  restore  our  former  flow  pf 
good  feeling.  Abel's  experience  with  the  beer  was  freely 
discussed.  He  insisted  strongly  that  he  had  not  been 
laboring  under  its  effects,  and  proposed  a  mutual  test. 
He,  Shelldrake,  and  Hollins  were  to  drink  it  in  equal 
measures,  and  compare  observations  as  to  their  physical 
sensations.  The  others  agreed, — quite  willingly,  I 
thought, — but  I  refused.     .     .     . 

"There  was  a  sound  of  loud  voices,  as  we  approached 
the  stoop.  Hollins,  Shelldrake  and  his  wife,  and  Abel 
Mallory  were  sitting  together  near  the  door.  Perkins 
Brown,  as  usual,  was  crouched  on  the  lowest  step,  with 
one  leg  over  the  other,  and  rubbing  the  top  of  his  boot 
with  a  vigor  which  betrayed  to  me  some  secret  mirth. 
He  looked  up  at  me  from  under  his  straw  hat  with  the 

127 


THE    EXPERIENCES    OF    THE    A.    C. 

grin  of  a  malicious  Puck,  glanced  toward  the  group,  and 
made  a  curious  gesture  with  his  thumb.  There  were  sev- 
eral empty  pint  bottles  on  the  stoop. 

"  'Now,  are  you  sure  you  can  bear  the  test?'  we  heard 
Hollins  ask,  as  we  approached. 

"  'Bear  it  ?  Why,  to  be  sure !'  replied  Shelldrake ;  'if 
I  couldn't  bear  it,  or  if  you  couldn't,  your  theory's  done 
for.   Try !  I  can  stand  it  as  long  as  you  can.' 

"  'Well,  then,'  said  Hollins,  'I  think  you  are  a  very  or- 
dinary man.  I  derive  no  intellectual  benefit  from  my  in- 
tercourse with  you,  but  your  house  is  convenient  to  me. 
I'm  under  no  obligations  for  your  hospitality,  however, 
because  my  company  is  an  advantage  to  you.  Indeed,  if 
I  were  treated  according  to  my  deserts,  you  couldn't  do 
enough  for  me.' 

"Mrs.  Shelldrake  was  up  in  arms. 

"  'Indeed,'  she  exclaimed,  'I  think  you  get  as  good  as 
you  deserve,  and  more,  too.' 

"  'Elvira,'  said  he,  with  a  benevolent  condescension,  *I 
have  no  doubt  you  think  so,  for  your  mind  belongs  to  the 
lowest  and  most  material  sphere.  You  have  your  place 
in  Nature,  and  you  fill  it;  but  it  is  not  for  you  to  judge 
of  intelligences  which  move  only  on  the  upper  planes.' 

"  'Hollins,'  said  Shelldrake,  'Elviry's  a  good  wife  and 
a  sensible  woman,  and  I  won't  allow  you  to  turn  up  your 
nose  at  her.' 

"  'I  am  not  surprised,'  he  answered,  'that  you  should 
fail  to  stand  the  test.    I  didn't  expect  it.' 

"  'Let  me  try  it  on  you!'  cried  Shelldrake.  'You,  now, 
have  some  intellect, — I  don't  deny  that, — but  not  so  much, 
by  a  long  shot,  as  you  think  you  have.  Besides  that,  you're 
awfully  selfish  in  your  opinions.  You  won't  admit  that 
anybody  can  be  right  who  differs  from  you.  You've 
sponged  on  me  for  a  long  time ;  but  I  suppose  I've  learned 

128 


BAYARD   TAYLOR 

something-  from  you,  so  we'll  call  it  even.  I  think,  how- 
ever, that  what  you  call  acting  according  to  impulse  is 
simply  an  excuse  to  cover  your  own  laziness.' 

"'Gosh!  that's  it!'  interrupted  Perkins,  jumping  up; 
then,  recollecting  himself,  he  sank  down  on  the  steps 
again,  and  shook  with  a  suppressed  'Ho !  ho  !  ho !' 

"Hollins,  however,  drew  himself  up  with  an  exasper- 
ated air. 

*'  'Shelldrake,'  said  he,  'I  pity  you.  I  always  knew  your 
ignorance,  but  I  thought  you  honest  in  your  human  char- 
acter. I  never  suspected  you  of  envy  and  malice.  How- 
ever, the  true  Reformer  must  expect  to  be  misunderstood 
and  misrepresented  by  meaner  minds.  That  love  which 
I  bear  to  all  creatures  teaches  me  to  forgive  you.  With- 
out such  love,  all  plans  of  progress  must  fail.  Is  it  not  so, 
Abel?'" 

"Shelldrake  could  only  ejaculate  the  words,  'Pity!' 
'Forgive!'  in  his  most  contemptuous  tone;  while  Mrs. 
Shelldrake,  rocking  violently  in  her  chair,  gave  utterance 
to  the  peculiar  clucking  'ts,  fs,  ts,  ts'  whereby  certain 
women  express  emotions  too  deep  for  words, 

"Abel,  roused  by  Rollins'  question,  answered,  with  a 
sudden  energy : 

"  'Love !  there  is  no  love  in  the  world.  Where  will  you 
find  it?  Tell  me,  and  I'll  go  there.  Love!  I'd  like  to  see 
it!  If  all  human  hearts  were  like  mine,  we  might  have  an 
Arcadia;  but  most  men  have  no  hearts.  The  world  is  a 
miserable,  hollow,  deceitful  shell  of  vanity  and  hypocrisy. 
No :  let  us  give  up.  We  were  born  before  our  time :  this 
age  is  not  worthy  of  us.' 

"Hollins  stared  at  the  speaker  in  utter  amazement. 
Shelldrake  gave  a  long  whistle,  and  finally  gasped  out : 

"'Well,  what  next?' 

"None  of  us  were  prepared  for  such  a  sudden  and  com- 

129 


THE   EXPERIENCES    OF   THE   A.    C. 

plete  wreck  of  our  Arcadian  scheme.  The  foundations 
had  been  sapped  before,  it  is  true;  but  we  had  not  per- 
ceived it;  and  now,  in  two  short  days,  the  whole  edifice 
tumbled  about  our  ears.  Though  it  was  inevitable,  we 
felt  a  shock  of  sorrow,  and  a  silence  fell  upon  us.  Only 
that  scamp  of  a  Perkins  Brown,  chuckling  and  rubbing 
his  boot,  really  rejoiced.  I  could  have  kicked  him. 

"We  all  went  to  bed,  feeling  that  the  charm  of  our  Ar- 
cadian life  was  over.  ...  In  the  first  revulsion  of 
feeling,  I  was  perhaps  unjust  to  my  associates.  I  see  now, 
more  clearly,  the  causes  of  those  vagaries,  which  origi- 
nated in  a  genuine  aspiration,  and  failed  from  an  ignor- 
ance of  the  true  nature  of  Man,  quite  as  much  as  from  the 
egotism  of  the  individuals.  Other  attempts  at  reorganiz- 
ing Society  were  made  about  the  same  time  by  men  of 
culture  and  experience,  but  in  the  A.  C.  we  had  neither. 
Our  leaders  had  caught  a  few  half-truths,  which,  in  their 
minds,  were  speedily  warped  into  errors."     .     .     . 


130 


WHAT  MR.  ROBINSON  THINKS 

BY   JAMES    RUSSELL   LOWELL 

Guvener  B.  is  a  sensible  man ; 

He  stays  to  his  home  an'  looks  arter  his  folks ; 
He  draws  his  furrer  ez  straight  ez  he  can, 
An'  into  nobody's  tater-patch  pokes ; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  wunt  vote  fer  Guvener  B. 

My  !■  ain't  it  terrible  ?    Wut  shall  we  du  ? 

We  can't  never  choose  him,  o'  course, — thet's  flat ; 
Guess  we  shall  hev  to  come  round  (don't  you?) 
An'  go  in  fer  thunder  an'  guns,  an'  all  that ; 
Fer  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  wunt  vote  fer  Guvener  B. 

Gineral  C.  is  a  dreffle  smart  man : 

He's  ben  on  all  sides  thet  give  places  or  pelf; 
But  consistency  still  was  a  part  of  his  plan, — 

He's  ben  true  tO'  one  party, — an'  thet  is  himself ; — 
So  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  shall  vote  fer  Gineral  C. 

131 


WHAT    MR.    ROBINSON    THINKS 

Gineral  C.  he  goes  in  fer  the  war ; 

He  don't  vally  principle  more'n  an  old  cud ; 
Wut  did  God  make  us  raytional  creeturs  fer, 
But  glory  an'  gunpowder,  plunder  an'  blood  ? 
So  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  shall  vote  for  Gineral  C. 


We  were  gettin'  on  nicely  up  here  to  our  village, 

With  good  old  idees  o'  wut's  right  an'  wut  ain't, 
We  kind  o'  thought  Christ  went  agin  war  an'  pillage. 
An'  thet  eppyletts  worn't  the  best  mark  of  a  saint ; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  this  kind  o'  thing's  an  exploded  idee. 

The  side  of  our  country  must  oilers  be  took, 

An'  Presidunt  Polk,  you  know,  he  is  pur  country, 
An'  the  angel  thet  writes  all  our  sins  in  a  book 
Puts  the  debit  to  him,  an'  to  us  the  per  contry; 
An'  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  this  is  his  view  o'  the  thing  to  a  T. 

Parson  Wilbur  he  calls  all  these  argimunts  lies ; 

Sez  they're  nothin'  on  airth  but  jest  fee,  fazv,  fum; 
An'  thet  all  this  big  talk  of  our  destinies 
Is  half  on  it  ign'ance,  an' t'  other  half  rum; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  it  ain't  no  sech  thing ;  an',  of  course,  so  must  we. 


132 


JAMES    RUSSELL    LOWELL 

Parson  Wilbur  sez  he  never  heerd  in  his  life 

Thet  th'  Apostles  rigged  out  in  their  swaller-tail  coats, 
An'  marched  round  in  front  of  a  drum  an'  a  fife, 
To  git  some  on  'em  office,  an'  some  on  'em  votes; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  they  didn't  know  everythin'  down  in  Judee. 

f 
Wall,  it's  a  marcy  we've  gut  folks  to  tell  us 

The  rights  an'  the  wrongs  o'  these  matters,  I  vow, — 
God  sends  country  lawyers,  an'  other  wise  fellers. 
To  start  the  world's  team  wen  it  gits  in  a  slough ; 
Fer  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  the  world'll  go  right,  ef  he  hollers  out  Gee ! 


^33 


THE  DAY  WE  DO  NOT  CELEBRATE 

BY   ROBERT   J.    BURDETTE 

One  famous  day  in  great  July- 
John  Adams  said,  long  years  gone  by, 

"This  day  that  makes  a  people  free 
Shall  be  the  people's  jubilee, 

"With  games,  guns,  sports,  and  shows  displayed, 
With  bells,  pomp,  bonfires,  and  parade, 

"Throughout  this  land,  from  shore  to  shore, 
From  this  time  forth,  forevermore." 

The  years  passed  on,  and  by  and  by, 
Men's  hearts  grew  cold  in  hot  July. 

And  Mayor  Hawarden  Cholmondely  said 
"Hof  rockets  Hi  ham  sore  hafraid ; 

"Hand  hif  you  send  one  hup  hablaze, 
Hi'll  send  you  hup  for  sixty  days." 

Then  said  the  Mayor  O'Shay  McQuade, 
"Thayre  uz  no  nade  fur  no  perade." 

And  Mayor  Hans  Von  Schwartzenmeyer 
Proclaimed,  "I'll  haf  me  no  bonfier !" 

Said  Mayor  Baptiste  Raphael 
"No  make-a  ring-a  dat-a  bell !" 
134 


ROBERT  J.  BURDETTE 

"By  gar !"  cried  Mayor  Jean  Crapaud, 
"Zis  July  games  vill  has  to  go !" 

And  Mayor  Knud  Christofferrssonn 

Said,  "Djeath  to  hjjim  who  fjjres  a  gjjunn!' 

At  last,  cried  Mayor  Wun  Lung  Lee — 
"Too  muchee  hoop-la  boberee!" 

And  so  the  Yankee  holiday, 
Of  proclamations  passed  away. 


135 


THE  YANKEE  DUDE'LL  DO 


BY   S.    E.    KISER 


When  Cholly  swung  his  golf-stick  on  the  links, 

Or  knocked  the  tennis-ball  across  the  net, 
With  his  bangs  done  up  in  cunning  little  kinks — 
When  he  wore  the  tallest  collar  he  could  get, 
Oh,  it  was  the  fashion  then 
To  impale  him  on  the  pen — 
To  regard  him  as  a  being  made  of  putty  through  and 
through ; 
But  his  racquet's  laid  away, 
He  is  roughing  it  to-day, 
And  heroically  proving  that  the  Yankee  dude'll  do. 

When  Algy,  as  some  knight  of  old  arrayed, 

Was  the  leading  figure  at  the  "fawncy  ball," 
We  loathed  him  for  the  silly  part  he  played. 
He  was  set  down  as  a  monkey — that  was  all ! 
Oh,  we  looked  upon  him  then 
As  unfit  to  class  with  men. 
As  one  whose  heart  was  putty,  and  whose  brains  were 
made  of  glue ; 
But  he  's  thrown  his  cane  away, 
And  he  grasps  a  gun  to-day, 
While  the  world  beholds  him,  knowing  that  the  Yankee 
dude'll  do. 

136 


S.    E.    KISER 

When  Clarence  cruised  about  upon  his  yacht, 

Or  drove  out  with  his  footman  through  the  park, 
His  mamma,  it  was  generally  thought. 

Ought  to  have  him  in  her  keeping  after  dark ! 
Oh,  we  ridiculed  him  then, 
We  impaled  him  on  the  pen, 
We  thought  he  was  effeminate,  we  dubbed  him  "Sissy," 
too; 
But  he  nobly  marched  away, 
He  is  eating  pork  to-day, 
And  heroically  proving  that  the  Yankee  dude'll  do. 

How  they  hurled  themselves  against  the  angry  foe, 

In  the  jungle  and  the  trenches  on  the  hill ! 
When  the  word  to  charge  was  given,  every  dude  was 
on  the  go — 
He  was  there  to  die,  to  capture,  or  to  kill ! 
Oh,  he  struck  his  level  when 
Men  were  called  upon  again 
To  preserve  the  ancient  glory  of  the  old  red,  white,  and 
blue! 
He  has  thrown  his  spats  away, 
He  is  wearing  spurs  to-day, 
And  the  world  will  please  take  notice  that  the  Yankee 
dude'll  do! 


^Z7 


SPELLING  DOWN  THE  MASTER 

BY  EDWARD   EGGLESTON 

"I  'low,"  said  Mrs.  Means,  as  she  stuffed  the  tobacco 
into  her  cob  pipe  after  supper  on  that  eventful  Wednes- 
day evening :  "1  'low  they'll  app'int  the  Squire  to  gin  out 
the  words  to-night.  They  mos'  always  do,  you  see,  kase 
he's  the  peartest  ole  man  in  this  deestrick;  and  I  'low 
some  of  the  young  fellers  would  have  to  git  up  and  dust 
ef  they  would  keep  up  to  him.  And  he  uses  sech  remark- 
able smart  words.  He  speaks  so  polite,  too.  But  laws! 
don't  I  remember  when  he  was  poarer  nor  Job's  turkey? 
Twenty  year  ago,  when  he  come  to  these  'ere  diggin's, 
that  air  Squire  Hawkins  was  a  poar  Yankee  school-mas- 
ter, that  said  'pail'  instid  of  bucket,  and  that  called  a  cow 
a  *caow,'  and  that  couldn't  tell  to  save  his  gizzard  what 
we  meant  by  'low  and  by  right  smart.  But  he's  larnt  our 
ways  now,  an'  he's  jest  as  civilized  as  the  rest  of  us.  You 
would-n  know  he'd  ever  been  a  Yankee.  He  didn't  stay 
poar  long.  Not  he.  He  jest  married  a  right  rich  girl! 
He !  he !"  And  the  old  woman  grinned  at  Ralph,  and  then 
at  Mirandy,  and  then  at  the  rest,  until  Ralph  shuddered. 
Nothing  was  so  frightful  to  him  as  to  be  fawned  on  by 
this  grinning  ogre,  whose  few  lonesome,  blackish  teeth 
seemed  ready  to  devour  him.  "He  didn't  stay  poar,  you 
bet  a  hoss !"  and  with  this  the  coal  was  deposited  on  the 
pipe,  and  the  lips  began  to  crack  like  parchment  as  each 
puff  of  smoke  escaped.   "He  married  rich,  you  see,"  and 

138 


EDWARD    EGGLESTON 

here  another  significant  look  at  the  young  master,  and  an- 
other fond  look  at  Mirandy,  as  she  puffed  away  reflect- 
ively. "His  wife  hadn't  no  book-larnin'.  She'd  been 
through  the  spellin'-book  wunst,  and  had  got  as  fur  as 
'asperity'  on  it  a  second  time.  But  she  couldn't  read  a 
word  when  she  was  married,  and  never  could.  She  warn't 
overly  smart.  She  hadn't  hardly  got  the  sense  the  law 
allows.  But  schools  was  skase  in  them  air  days,  and,  be- 
sides, book-larnin'  don't  do  no  good  to  a  woman.  Makes 
her  stuck  up,  I  never  knowed  but  one  gal  in  my  life  as 
had  ciphered  into  fractions,  and  she  was  so  dog-on  stuck 
up  that  she  turned  up  her  nose  one  night  at  a  apple-peelin' 
bekase  I  tuck  a  sheet  off  the  bed  to  splice  out  the  table- 
cloth, which  was  ruther  short.  And  the  sheet  was  mos' 
clean  too,  Had-n  been  slep  on  more'n  wunst  or  twicet. 
But  I  was  goin'  fer  to  say  that  when  Squire  Hawkins 
married  Virginny  Gray  he  got  a  heap  o'  money,  or,  what's 
the  same  thing  mostly,  a  heap  o'  good  land.  And  that's 
better'n  book-larnin',  says  I.  Ef  a  gal  had  gone  clean 
through  all  eddication,  and  got  to  the  rule  of  three  itself, 
that  would-n  buy  a  feather-bed.  Squire  Hawkins  jest  put 
eddication  agin  the  gal's  farm,  and  traded  even,  an'  ef 
ary  one  of  'em  got  swindled,  I  never  heerd  no  complaints." 

And  here  she  looked  at  Ralph  in  triumph,  her  hard  face 
splintering  into  the  hideous  semblance  of  a  smile.  And 
Mirandy  cast  a  blushing,  gushing,  all-imploring,  and  all- 
confiding  look  on  the  young  master, 

"I  say,  ole  woman,"  broke  in  old  Jack,  "I  say,  wot  is 
all  this  'ere  spoutin'  about  the  Square  fer  ?"  and  old  Jack, 
having  bit  off  an  ounce  of  "pigtail,"  returned  the  plug  to 
his  pocket. 

As  for  Ralph,  he  fell  into  a  sort  of  terror.  He  had  a 
guilty  feeling  that  this  speech  of  the  old  lady's  had  some- 
how committed  him  beyond  recall  to  Mirandy.    He  did 

139 


SPELLING   DOWN    THE    MASTER 

not  see  visions  of  breach-of-promise  suits.   But  he  trem- 
bled at  the  thought  of  an  avenging  big  brother. 

"Hanner,  you  kin  come  along,  too,  ef  you're  a  mind, 
when  you  git  the  dishes  washed,"  said  Mrs.  Means  to  the 
bound  girl,  as  she  shut  and  latched  the  back  door.  The 
Means  family  had  built  a  new  house  in  front  of  the  old 
pne,  as  a  sort  of  advertisement  of  bettered  circumstances, 
an  eruption  of  shoddy  feeling ;  but  when  the  new  building 
was  completed,  they  found  themselves  unable  to  occupy 
it  for  anything  else  than  a  lumber  room,  and  so,  except 
a  parlor  which  Mirandy  had  made  an  effort  to  furnish  a 
little  (in  hope  of  the  blissful  time  when  somebody  should 
"set  up"  with  her  of  evenings),  the  new  building  was  al- 
most unoccupied,  and  the  family  went  in  and  out  through 
the  back  door,  which,  indeed,  was  the  front  door  also,  for, 
according  to  a  curious  custom,  the  "front"  of  the  house 
was  placed  toward  the  south,  though  the  "big  road" 
(Hoosier  for  highway)  ran  along  the  northwest  side,  or, 
rather,  past  the  northwest  corner  of  it. 

When  the  old  woman  had  spoken  thus  to  Hannah  and 
had  latched  the  door,  she  muttered,  "That  gal  don't  never 
show  no  gratitude  fer  favors ;"  to  which  Bud  rejoined  that 
he  didn't  think  she  had  no  great  sight  to  be  pertickler 
thankful  fer.  To  which  Mrs.  Means  made  no  reply, 
thinking  it  best,  perhaps,  not  to  wake  up  her  dutiful  son 
on  so  interesting  a  theme  as  her  treatment  of  Hannah. 
Ralph  felt  glad  that  he  was  this  evening  to  go  to  another 
boarding  place.  He  should  not  hear  the  rest  of  the  con- 
troversy. 

Ralph  walked  to  the  school-house  with  Bill.  They  were 
friends  again.  For  when  Hank  Banta's  ducking  and  his 
dogged  obstinacy  in  sitting  in  his  wet  clothes  had  brought 
on  a  serious  fever,  Ralph  had  called  together  the  big  boys, 
and  had  said :  "We  must  take  care  of  one  another,  boys. 

140 


EDWARD    EGGLESTON 

Who  will  volunteer  to  take  turns  sitting  up  with  Henry  ?" 
He  put  his  own  name  down,  and  all  the  rest  followed. 

"William  Means  and  myself  will  sit  up  to-night,"  said 
Ralph.  And  poor  Bill  had  been  from  that  moment  the 
teacher's  friend.  He  was  chosen  to  be  Ralph's  companion. 
He  was  Puppy  Means  no  longer!  Hank  could  not  be 
conquered  by  kindness,  and  the  teacher  was  made  to  feel 
the  bitterness  of  his  resentment  long  after.  But  Bill 
Means  was  for  the  time  entirely  placated,  and  he  and 
Ralph  went  to  spelling-school  together. 

Every  family  furnished  a  candle.  There  were  yellow 
dips  and  white  dips,  burning,  smoking,  and  flaring. 
There  was  laughing,  and  talking,  and  giggling,  and 
simpering,  and  ogling,  and  flirting,  and  courting.  What 
a  full-dress  party  is  to  Fifth  Avenue,  a  spelling-school  is 
to  Hoopole  County.  It  is  an  occasion  which  is  metaphor- 
ically inscribed  with  this  legend :  "Choose  your  partners." 
Spelling  is  only  a  blind  in  Hoopole  County,  as  is  dancing 
on  Fifth  Avenue.  But  as  there  are  some  in  society  who 
love  dancing  for  its  own  sake,  so  in  Flat  Creek  district 
there  were  those  who  loved  spelling  for  its  own  sake,  and 
who,  smelling  the  battle  from  afar,  had  come  to  try  their 
skill  in  this  tournament,  hoping  to  freshen  the  laurels 
they  had  won  in  their  school  days. 

"I  'low,"  said  Mr.  Means,  speaking  as  the  principal 
school  trustee,  "I  'low  our  friend  the  Square  is  jest  the 
man  to  boss  this  'ere  consarn  to-night.  Ef  nobody  ob- 
jects, I'll  app'int  him.  Come,  Square,  don't  be  bashful. 
Walk  up  to  the  trough,  fodder  or  no  fodder,  as  the  man 
said  to  his  donkey." 

There  was  a  general  giggle  at  this,  and  many  of  the 
young  swains  took  occasion  to  nudge  the  girls  alongside 
them,  ostensibly  for  the  purpose  of  making  them  see  the 
joke,  but  really  for  the  pure  pleasure  of  nudging.    The 

141 


SPELLING   DOWN   THE   MASTER 

Greeks  figured  Cupid  as  naked,  probably  because  he 
wears  so  many  disguises  that  they  could  not  select  a  cos- 
tume for  him. 

The  Squire  came  to  the  front.  Ralph  made  an  inven- 
tory of  the  agglomeration  which  bore  the  name  pf  Squire 
Hawkins,  as  follows : 

1.  A  swallow-tail  coat  of  indefinite  age,  worn  only  on 
state  occasions,  when  its  owner  was  called  to  figure  in  his 
public  capacity.  Either  the  Squire  had  grown  too  large 
or  the  coat  too  small. 

2.  A  pair  of  black  gloves,  the  most  phenomenal,  ab- 
normal and  unexpected  apparition  conceivable  in  Flat 
Creek  district,  where  the  preachers  wore  no  coats  in  the 
summer,  and  where  a  black  glove  was  never  seen  except 
on  the  hands  of  the  Squire. 

3.  A  wig  of  that  dirty,  waxen  color  so  common  to 
wigs.  This  one  showed  a  continual  inclination  to  slip  off 
the  owner's  smooth,  bald  pate,  and  the  Squire  had  fre- 
quently to  adjust  it.  As  his  hair  had  been  red,  the  wig  did 
not  accord  with  his  face,  and  the  hair  ungrayed  was 
doubly  discordant  with  a  countenance  shriveled  by  age. 

4.  A  semicircular  row  of  whiskers  hedging  the  edge  of 
the  jaw  and  chin.  These  were  dyed  a  frightful  dead- 
black,  such  a  color  as  belonged  to  no  natural  hair  or 
beard  that  ever  existed.  At  the  roots  there  was  a  quarter 
of  an  inch  of  white,  giving  the  whiskers  the  appearance 
of  having  been  stuck  on. 

5.  A  pair  of  spectacles  "with  tortoise-shell  rim."  Wont 
to  slip  off. 

6.  A  glass  eye,  purchased  of  a  peddler,  and  differing  in 
color  from  its  natural  mate,  perpetually  getting  out  of 
focus  by  turning  in  or  out. 

7.  A  set  of  false  teeth,  badly  fitted,  and  given  to  bob- 
bing up  and  down. 

142 


EDWARD    EGGLESTON 

8.  The  Squire  proper,  to  whom  these  patches  were 
loosely  attached. 

It  is  an  old  story  that  a  boy  wrote  home  to  his  father 
begging  him  to  come  West,  because  "mighty  mean  men 
get  into  office  out  here."  But  Ralph  concluded  that  some 
Yankees  had  taught  school  in  Hoopole  County  who 
would  not  have  held  a  high  place  in  the  educational  in- 
stitutions of  Massachusetts.  Hawkins  had  some  New 
England  idioms,  but  they  were  well  overlaid  by  a  West- 
ern pronunciation. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  began,  shoving  up  his 
spectacles,  and  sucking  his  lips  over  his  white  teeth  to 
keep  them  in  place,  "ladies  and  gentlemen,  young  men 
and  maidens,  raley  I'm  obleeged  to  Mr.  Means  fer  this 
honor,"  and  the  Squire  took  both  hands  and  turned  the 
top  of  his  head  round  half  an  inch.  Then  he  adjusted  his 
spectacles.  Whether  he  was  obliged  to  Mr.  Means  for 
the  honor  of  being  compared  to  a  donkey  was  not  clear. 
"I  feel  in  the  inmost  compartments  of  my  animal  spirits 
a  most  happifying  sense  of  the  success  and  futility  of 
all  my  endeavors  to  sarve  the  people  of  Flat  Creek  dees- 
trick,  and  the  people  of  Tomkins  township,  in  my  weak 
way  and  manner."  This  burst  of  eloquence  was  delivered 
with  a  constrained  air  and  an  apparent  sense  of  a  danger 
that  he,  Squire  Hawkins,  might  fall  to  pieces  in  his  weak 
way  and  manner,  and  of  the  success  and  futility  of  all 
attempts  at  reconstruction.  For  by  this  time  the  ghastly 
pupil  of  the  left  eye,  which  was  black,  was  looking  away 
round  to  the  left,  while  the  little  blue  one  on  the  right 
twinkled  cheerfully  toward  the  front.  The  front  teeth 
would  drop  down  so  that  the  Squire's  mouth  was  kept 
nearly  closed,  and  his  words  whistled  through. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  could  be  grandiloquent  on  this  interesting 
occasion,"  twisting  his  scalp  round,  "but  raley  I  must 

143 


SPELLING    DOWN    THE    MASTER 

forego  any  such  exertions.  It  is  spelling  you  want. 
Spelling  is  the  corner-stone,  the  grand,  underlying  sub- 
terfuge, of  a  good  eddication.  I  put  the  spellin'-book 
prepared  by  the  great  Daniel  Webster  alongside  the 
Bible.  I  do,  raley.  I  think  I  may  put  it  ahead  of  the 
Bible.  Fer  if  it  wurn't  fer  spellin' -books  and  sich  occa- 
sions as  these,  where  would  the  Bible  be?  I  should  like 
to  know.  The  man  who  got  /Up,  who  compounded  this 
work  of  inextricable  valoo  was  a  benu  factor  to  the  whole 
human  race  or  any  other."  Here  the  spectacles  fell  off. 
The  Squire  replaced  them  in  some  confusion,  gave  the 
top  of  his  head  another  twist,  and  felt  of  his  glass  eye, 
while  poor  Shocky  stared  in  wonder,  and  Betsey  Short 
rolled  from  side  to  side  in  the  effort  to  suppress  her 
giggle.  Mrs.  Means  and  the  other  old  ladies  looked  the 
applause  they  could  not  speak. 

*'I  app'int  Larkin  Lanham  and  Jeems  Buchanan  fer 
captings,"  said  the  Squire.  And  the  two  young  men  thus 
named  took  a  stick  and  tossed  it  from  hand  to  hand  to 
decide  which  should  have  the  "first  choice."  One  tossed 
the  stick  to  the  other,  who  held  it  fast  just  where  he  hap- 
pened to  catch  it.  Then  the  first  placed  his  hand  above 
the  second,  and  so  the  hands  were  alternately  changed  to 
the  top.  The  one  who  held  the  stick  last  without  room  for 
the  other  tp  take  hold  had  gained  the  lot.  This  was  tried 
three  times.  As  Larkin  held  the  stick  twice  out  of  three 
times,  he  had  the  choice.  He  hesitated  a  moment.  Every- 
body looked  toward  tall  Jim  Phillips.  But  Larkin  was 
fond  of  a  venture  on  unknown  seas,  and  so  he  said,  "I 
take  the  master,"  while  a  buzz  of  surprise  ran  round  the 
room,  and  the  captain  of  the  other  side,  as  if  afraid  his 
opponent  would  withdraw  the  choice,  retorted  quickly, 
and  with  a  little  smack  of  exultation  and  defiance  in  his 
voice,  "And  /  take  Jeems  Phillips." 

144 


EDWARD   EGGLESTON 

And  soon  all  present,  except  a  few  of  the  old  folks, 
found  themselves  ranged  in  opposing  hosts,  the  poor 
spellers  lagging  in,  with  what  grace  they  could,  at  the 
foot  of  the  two  divisions.  The  Squire  opened  his  spelling- 
book  and  began  to  give  out  the  words  to  the  two  captains, 
who  stood  up  and  spelled  against  each  other.  It  was  not 
long  until  Larkin  spelled  "really"  with  one  /,  and  had  to 
sit  down  in  confusion,  while  a 'murmur  of  satisfaction 
ran  through  the  ranks  of  the  opposing  forces.  His  own 
side  bit  their  lips.  The  slender  figure  of  the  young  teacher 
took  the  place  of  the  fallen  leader,  and  the  excitement 
made  the  house  very  quiet.  Ralph  dreaded  the  loss  of 
prestige  he  would  suffer  if  he  should  be  easily  spelled 
down.  And  at  the  moment  of  rising  he  saw  in  the  darkest 
corner  the  figure  of  a  well-dressed  young  man  sitting  in 
the  shadow.  Why  should  his  evil  genius  haunt  him? 
But  by  a  strong  effort  he  turned  his  attention  away  from 
Dr.  Small,  and  listened  carefully  to  the  words  which  the 
Squire  did  not  pronounce  very  distinctly,  spelling  them 
with  extreme  deliberation.  This  gave  him  an  air  of  hesi- 
tation which  disappointed  those  on  his  own  side.  They 
wanted  him  to  spell  with  a  dashing  assurance.  But  he 
did  not  begin  a  word  until  he  had  mentally  felt  his  way 
through  it.  After  ten  minutes  of  spelling  hard  words 
Jeems  Buchanan,  the  captain  on  the  other  side,  spelled 
"atrocious"  with  an  ^^  instead  of  a  c,  and  subsided,  his 
first  choice,  Jeems  Phillips,  coming  tip  against  the  teacher. 
This  brought  the  excitement  to  fever-heat.  For  though 
Ralph  was  chosen  first,  it  was  entirely  on  trust,  and  most 
of  the  company  were  disappointed.  The  champion  who 
now  stood  up  against  the  school-master  was  a  famous 
speller. 

Jim  Phillips  was  a  tall,  lank,  stoop-shouldered  fellow 
who  had  never  distinguished  himself  in  any  other  pursuit 

145 


'  SPELLING   DOWN   THE   MASTER 

than  spelling.  Except  in  this  one  art  of  spelling  he  was 
of  no  account.  He  could  not  catch  well  or  bat  well  in  ball. 
He  could  not  throw  well  enough  to  make  his  mark  in 
that  famous  Western  game  of  bull-pen.  He  did  not  suc- 
ceed well  in  any  study  but  that  of  Webster's  Elementary. 
But  in  that  he  was — to  use  the  usual  Flat  Creek  locution 
• — in  that  he  was  "a  boss."  This  genius  for  spelling  is  in 
some  people  a  sixth  sense,  a  matter  of  intuition.  Some 
spellers  are  born,  and  not  made,  and  their  facility  reminds 
one  of  the  mathematical  prodigies  that  crop  out  every 
now  and  then  to  bewilder  the  world.  Bud  Means,  fore- 
seeing that  Ralph  would  be  pitted  against  Jim  Phillips, 
had  warned  his  friend  that  Jim  could  "spell  like  thunder 
and  lightning,"  and  that  it  "took  a  powerful  smart  spel- 
ler" to  beat  him,  for  he  knew  "a  heap  of  spelling-book." 
To  have  "spelled  down  the  master"  is  next  thing  to  hav- 
ing whipped  the  biggest  bully  in  Hoopole  County,  and 
Jim  had  "spelled  down"  the  last  three  masters.  He  di- 
vided the  hero-worship  of  the  district  with  Bud  Means. 

For  half  an  hour  the  Squire  gave  out  hard  words. 
What  a  blessed  thing  our  crooked  orthography  is !  With- 
out it  there  could  be  no  spelling-schools.  As  Ralph  dis- 
covered his  opponent's  metal  he  became  more  and  more 
cautious.  He  was  now  satisfied  that  Jim  would  eventu- 
ally beat  him.  The  fellow  evidently  knew  more  about  the 
spelling-book  than  old  Noah  Webster  himself.  As  he 
stood  there,  with  his  dull  face  and  long,  sharp  nose,  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  and  his  voice  spelling  infallibly, 
it  seemed  to  Hartsook  that  his  superiority  must  lie  in  his 
nose.  Ralph's  cautiousness  answered  a  double  purpose; 
it  enabled  him  to  tread  surely,  and  it  was  mistaken  by 
Jim  for  weakness.  Phillips  was  now  confident  that  he 
should  carry  off  the  scalp  of  the  fourth  school-master  be- 
fore the  evening  was  over.    He  spelled  eagerly,  confi- 

146 


EDWARD    EGGLESTON 

dently,  brilliantly.  Stoop-shouldered  as  he  was,  he  began 
to  straighten  up.  In  the  minds  of  all  the  company  the 
odds  were  in  his  favor.  He  saw  this,  and  became  am- 
bitious to  distinguish  himself  by  spelling  without  giving 
the  matter  any  thought. 

Ralph  always  believed  that  he  would  have  been  speedily 
defeated  by  Phillips  had  it  not  been  for  two  thoughts 
which  braced  him.  The  sinister  shadow  of  young  Dr. 
Small  sitting  in  the  dark  corner  by  the  water-bucket 
nerved  him.  A  victory  over  Phillips  was  a  defeat  to  one 
who  wished  pnly  ill  to  the  young  school-master.  The 
other  thought  that  kept  his  pluck  alive  was  the  recollec- 
tion of  Bull.  He  approached  a  word  as  Bull  approached 
the  raccoon.  He  did  not  take  hold  until  he  was  sure  of 
his  game.  When  he  took  hold,  it  was  with  a  quiet  assur- 
ance of  success.  As  Ralph  spelled  in  this  dogged  way 
for  half  an  hour  the  hardest  words  the  Squire  could  find, 
the  excitement  steadily  rose  in  all  parts  of  the  house,  and 
Ralph's  friends  even  ventured  to  whisper  that  "maybe 
Jim  had  cotched  his  match,  after  all !" 

But  Phillips  never  doubted  of  his  success. 

"Theodolite,"  said  the  Squire. 

"T-h-e,  the,  o-d,  od,  theod,  o,  theodo,  1-y-t-e,  the- 
odolite," spelled  the  champion, 

"Next,"  said  the  Squire,  nearly  losing  his  teeth  in  his 
excitement.  Ralph  spelled  the  word  slowly  and  correctly, 
and  the  conquered  champion  sat  down  in  confusion.  The 
excitement  was  so  great  for  some  minutes  that  the  spell- 
ing was  suspended.  Everybody  in  the  house  had  shown 
sympathy  with  one  or  the  other  of  the  combatants,  ex- 
cept the  silent  shadow  in  the  corner.  It  had  not  moved 
during  the  contest,  and  did  not  show  any  interest  now  in 
the  result. 

"Gewhilliky  crickets !  Thunder  and  lightning !  Licked 

147 


SPELLING    DOWN    THE    MASTER 

him  all  to  smash!"  said  Bud,  rubbing  his  hands  on  his 
knees.   "That  beats  my  time  all  holler !" 

And  Betsey  Short  giggled  until  her  tuck-comb  fell  out, 
though  she  was  not  on  the  defeated  side. 

Shocky  got  up  and  danced  with  pleasure. 

But  one  suffocating  look  from  the  aqueous  eyes  of 
Mirandy  destroyed  the  last  spark  of  Ralph's  pleasure  in 
his  triumph,  and  sent  that  awful  below-zero  feeling  all 
through  him. 

"He's  powerful  smart,  is  the  master,"  said  old  Jack  to 
Mr,  Pete  Jones.  "He'll  beat  the  whole  kit  and  tuck  of 
'em  afore  he's  through.  I  know'd  he  was  smart.  That's 
the  reason  I  tuck  him,"  proceeded  Mr.  Means. 

"Yaas,  but  he  don't  lick  enough.  Not  nigh,"  answered 
Pete  Jones.   "No  lickin',  no  larnin',"  says  L 

It  was  now  not  so  hard.  The  other  spellers  on  the  op- 
posite side  went  down  quickly  under  the  hard  words 
which  the  Squire  gave  out.  The  master  had  mowed  down 
all  but  a  few,  his  opponents  had  given  up  the  battle,  and 
all  had  lost  their  keen  interest  in  a  contest  to  which  there 
could  be  but  one  conclusion,  for  there  were  only  the  poor 
spellers  left.  But  Ralph  Hartsook  ran  against  a  stump 
where  he  was  least  expecting  it.  It  was  the  Squire's 
custom,  when  one  of  the  smaller  scholars  or  poorer  spel- 
lers rose  to  spell  against  the  master,  to  give  out  eight  or 
ten  easy  words,  that  they  might  have  some  breathing- 
spell  before  being  slaughtered,  and  then  to  give  a  poser 
or  two  which  soon  settled  them.  He  let  them  run  a  little, 
as  a  cat  does  a  doomed  mouse.  There  was  now  but  one 
person  left  on  the  opposite  side,  and,  as  she  rose  in  her 
blue  calico  dress,  Ralph  recognized  Hannah,  the  bound 
girl  at  old  Jack  Means's.  She  had  not  attended  school  in 
the  district,  and  had  never  spelled  in  spelling-school  be- 
fore, and  was  chosen  last  as  an  uncertain  quantity.   The 

148 


EDWARD    EGGLESTON 

Squire  began  with  easy  words  of  two  syllables,  from  tba£ 
page  of  Webster,  so  well  known  to  all  who  ever  thumbed 
it,  as  "baker,"  from  the  word  that  stands  at  the  top  of  the 
page.  She  spelled  these  words  in  an  absent  and  uninter-' 
ested  manner.  As  everybody  knew  that  she  would  have 
to  go  down  as  soon  as  this  preliminary  skirmishing  was 
over,  everybody  began  to  get  ready  to  go  home,  and  al- 
ready there  was  the  buzz  of  preparation.  Young  men 
were  timidly  asking  girls  if  "they  could  see  them  safe 
home,"  which  was  the  approved  formula,  and  were  trem- 
bling in  mortal  fear  of  "the  mitten."  Presently  the 
Squire,  thinking  it  time  to  close  the  contest,  pulled  his 
scalp  forward,  adjusted  his  glass  eye,  which  had  been 
examining  his  nose  long  enough,  and  turned  over  the 
leaves  of  the  book  to  the  great  words  at  the  place  known 
to  spellers  as  "incomprehensibility,"  and  began  to  give 
out  those  "words  of  eight  syllables  with  the  accent  on  the 
sixth."  Listless  scholars  now  turned  round,  and  ceased  to 
whisper,  in  order  to  be  in  at  the  master's  final  triumph. 
But  tO'  their  surprise  "ole  Miss  Meanses'  white  nigger," 
as  some  of  them  called  her  in  allusion  to  her  slavish  life, 
spelled  these  great  words  with  as  perfect  ease  as  the  mas- 
ter. Still  not  doubting  the  result,  the  Squire  turned  from 
place  to  place  and  selected  all  the  hard  words  he  could 
find.  The  school  became  utterly  quiet,  the  excitement  was 
too  great  for  the  ordinary  buzz.  Would  "Meanses'  Han- 
ner"  beat  the  master?  beat  the  master  that  had  laid  out 
Jim  Phillips?  Everybody's  sympathy  was  now  turned  to 
Hannah,  Ralph  noticed  that  even  Shocky  had  deserted 
him,  and  that  his  face  grew  brilliant  every  time  Hannah 
spelled  a  word.  In  fact,  Ralph  deserted  himself.  As  he 
saw  the  fine,  timid  face  of  the  girl  so  long  oppressed 
flush  and  shine  with  interest;  as  he  looked  at  the  rather 
low  but  broad  and  intelligent  brow  and  the  fresh,  white 

149 


SPELLING   DOWN    THE    MASTER 

complexion  and  saw  the  rich,  womanly  nature  coming 
to  the  surface  under  the  influence  of  applause  and  sym- 
pathy— he  did  not  want  to  beat.  If  he  had  not  felt  that  a 
victory  given  would  insult  her,  he  would  have  missed  in- 
tentionally. The  bulldog,  the  stern,  relentless  setting  of 
the  will,  had  gone,  he  knew  not  whither.  And  there  had 
come  in  its  place,  as  he  looked  in  that  face,  a  something 
which  he  did  not  understand.  You  did  not,  gentle  reader, 
the  first  time  it  came  to  you. 

The  Squire  was  puzzled.  He  had  given  out  all  the  hard 
words  in  the  book.  He  again  pulled  the  top  of  his  head 
forward.  Then  he  wiped  his  spectacles  and  put  them  on. 
Then  out  of  the  depths  of  his  pocket  he  fished  up  a  list  of 
words  just  coming  into  use  in  those  days — words  not  in 
the  spelling-book.  He  regarded  the  paper  attentively  with 
his  blue  right  eye.  His  black  left  eye  meanwhile  fixed 
itself  in  such  a  stare  on  Mirandy  Means  that  she  shud- 
dered and  hid  her  eyes  in  her  red  silk  handkerchief. 

"Daguerreotype,"  sniffed  the  Squire.  It  was  Ralph's 
turn. 

"D-a-u,  dau— " 

"Next." 

And  Hannah  spelled  it  right. 

Such  a  buzz  followed  that  Betsey  Short's  giggle  could 
not  be  heard,  but  Shocky  shouted:  "Hanner  beat!  my 
Hanner  spelled  down  the  master !"  And  Ralph  went  over 
and  congratulated  her. 

And  Dr.  Small  sat  perfectly  still  in  the  corner. 

And  then  the  Squire  called  them  to  order,  and  said : 
"As  our  friend  Hanner  Thomson  is  the  only  one  left  on 
her  side,  she  will  have  to  spell  against  nearly  all  on  t'other 
side.  I  shall  therefore  take  the  liberty  of  procrastinating 
the  completion  of  this  interesting  and  exacting  contest 
until  to-morrow  evening,   I  hope  our  friend  Hanner  may 

150 


EDWARD    EGGLESTON 

again  carry  off  the  cypress  crown  of  glory.  There  is 
nothing  better  for  us  than  healthful  and  kindly  simula- 
tion." 

Dr.  Small,  who  knew  the  road  to  practice,  escorted 
Mirandy,  and  Bud  went  home  with  somebody  else.  The 
others  of  the  Means  family  hurried  on,  while  Hannah, 
the  champion,  stayed  behind  a  minute  to  speak  to  Shocky. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  Ralph  saw  that  Hannah  must  go 
alone  that  he  suddenly  remembered  having  left  something 
which  was  of  no  consequence,  and  resolved  to  go  round 
by  Mr.  Means's  and  get  it. 


MYOPIA' 

BY  WALLACE  RICE 

As  down  the  street  he  took  his  stroll, 

He  cursed,  for  all  he  is  a  saint. 
He  saw  a  sign  atop  a  pole, 
As  down  the  street  he  took  a  stroll. 
And  climbed  it  up  (near-sighted  soul), 
So  he  could  read — and  read  "FRESH 
PAINT,"     .     .     . 
As  down  the  street  he  took  a  stroll, 
He  cursed,  for  all  he  is  a  saint. 


151 


ANATOLE  DUBOIS  AT  DE  HORSE  SHOW 

BY    WALLACE    BRUCE    AMSBARY 

My  vife  an'  me  ve  read  so  moch 

In  papier  here  of  late, 
About  Chicago^  Horse  Show,  ve 

Remember  day  an'  date. 
Ve  mak'  it  op  togedder  dat 

Ve  go  an'  see  dat  show, 
Dere's  som't'ing  dere  ve  fin'  it  out 

Maybe  ve  vant  to  know. 

Ve  leave  de  leddle  farm  avile, 

Dat's  near  to  Bourbonnais; 
Ve're  soon  op  to  Chicago  town 

For  spen'  de  night  an'  day; 
I  nevere  lak'  dat  busy  place, 

It's  mos'  too  swif  for  me, — 
Ve  vaste  no  tam',  but  gat  to  place 

Dat  ve  Is  com'  for  see. 

Ve  pay  de  price  for  tak'  us  In, 

Dey  geeve  me  deux  ticquette ; 
Charlotte  an'  me  ve  com'  for  see 

De  Horse  Show  now,  you  bet. 
Ve  soon  gat  in  it  veree  moch, 

"De  push,"  I  t'ink  you  call. 
To  inside  on  de  beeg  building, 

Ve're  going  to  see  it  all. 
152 


WALLACE  BRUCE  AMSBARY 

De  Coliseum  is  de  place, 

Dey  mak'  de  Horse  Show  dere, 
Five  tarn's  so  beeg-  dan  any  barn 

At  Boiirbonnais,  by  gar ! 
I'm  look  aroiin'  for  place  dey  haf 

For  dem  to-  pitch  de  hay. 
"I  guess  it's  'out  of  sight,'  I  t'ink," 

Dey's  von  man  to  me  say. 


Som'  horses  for  to  see; 
Dere's  pretty  vomans,  lots  of  dem, 

But,  for  de  life  of  me, 
I  can  not  see  de  trotter  nag. 

Or  vat's  called  t'oroughbred, 
I  vonder  if  ve  mak'  mistake. 

Gat  in  wrong  place  instead. 

But  Charlotte  is  not  disappoint', 

Her  eyes  dey  shine  so  bright. 
It's  ven  she  sees  dem  vimmens  folks, 

Dey  dance  vit  moch  delight ; 
I  den  vos  tak'  a  look  myself 

On  ladies  vit  fin'  drass, 
Dere's  nodding  else  in  dat  whol'  place 

Dat  is  so  interes'. 

I  say,  "Charlotte,"  say  I  to  her, 

"Dat  ladee  in  box  seat — 
Across  de  vay  vos  von  beeg  swell. 

Her  beauty's  hard  to  beat ; 
De  von  dat's  gat  fon^^  eyeglass 

Opon  a  leddle  stek, 
I'm  t'ink  she  is  most'  fin'  \ookin' 

Wen  she  bow  an'  spe'k. 

153 


ANATOLE  DUBOIS  AT  DE  HORSE  SHOW, 

"It's  pretty  drass  dat  she's  got  on, 

I  lak'  de  polonaise, 
Vere  bodice  it  is  all  meex  op 

Vit  jabot  all  de  vays. 
Dat's  hang  in  front  vit  pleats  all  roun' — 

It  is  von  fin'  tableau." 
An'  den  Charlotte  she  turn  tO'  me 

An'  ask  me  how  I  know 

So  moch  about  de  Beeg  Horse  Show, 

W'ich  we  are  com'  for  see ; 
An'  den  I  op  an'  tol'  her  dere 

Dat  I  had  com'  to  be 
Expert  on  informatione, 

Read  papier,  I  fin'  out 
Vat  all  is  in  de  Horse's  Show, 

An'  vat's  it  all  about. 

I  point  to  ladee  in  nex'  box, 

She's  feex  op  mighty  veil, 
I  vish  I  could  haf  vords  enough! 

Vat  she  had  on  to  tell ; 
De  firs'  part  it  vas  nodding  moch', 

From  cloth  it  vas  quite  free, 
Lak'  fleur-de-lis  at  Easter  tarn', 

Mos'  beautiful  to  see. 

An'  den  dere  is  commence  a  line 

Of  fluffy  cream  souffle, 
My  vife  it  mak'  her  very  diz', 

She's  not  a  vord  to  say. 
An'  den  com'  yard  of  crepe  de  chine, 

Vit  omelette  stripe  beneadt'. 
All  fill  it  op  vit  fine  guimpe  jew'ls 

An'  concertina  pleat. 
154 


WALLACE  BRUCE  AMSBARY 

Mon  Dieu !  an'  who  voiild  evere  t'ink 

Dat  Horse  Show  vas  lak'  dese ! 
A  Horse  Show  dere  vidout  no  horse, 

I  t'ink  dat's  strange  he&znesse. 
But  I  suppose  affer  de  man 

De  dry-goods  bill  dey  pay, 
Dere's  nodding  lef  to  spen'  on  horse 

Ontil  som'  odder  day. 

I  tell  you  every  hour  you  leeve, 

You  fin'  out  som't'ing  new ; 
An'  now  I  haf  som'  vords  to  tell, 

Som'  good  it  might  do  you ; 
It's  mighty  fonny,  de  advise 

I'm  geeve  tO'  you,  of  course, 
But  never  go  to  Horses  Show 

Expecting  to  see  horse. 


155 


THE  CHAMPION  CHECKER-PLAYER  OF 
AMERIKY 

BY   JAMES    WHITCOMB    RILEY 

Of  course  as  fur  as  Checker-playin's  concerned,  you 
can't  jest  adzackly  claim  'at  lots  makes  fortunes  and  lots 
gits  bu'sted  at  it — but  still,  it's  on'y  simple  jestice  to  ac- 
knowledge 'at  there're  absolute  p'ints  in  the  game  'at  takes 
scientific  principles  to  figger  out,  and  a  mighty  level- 
headed feller  to  dimonstrsLte,  don't  you  understand ! 

Checkers  is  a'  old  enough  game,  ef  age  is  any  rickom- 
mendation ;  and  it's  a'  evident  fact,  too,  'at  "the  tooth  of 
time,"  as  the  feller  says,  which  fer  the  last  six  thousand 
years  has  gained  some  reputation  fer  a-eatin'  up  things 
in  giner'l,  don't  'pear  to  'a'  gnawed  much  of  a  hole  in 
Checkers — jedgin'  from  the  checker-board  of  to-day  and 
the  ones  'at  they're  uccasionally  shovellin'  out  at  Pomp'y-ij 
er  whatever  its  name  is.  Turned  up  a  checker-board  there 
not  long  ago,  I  wuz  readin'  'bout,  'at  still  had  the  spots 
on — as  plain  and  fresh  as  the  modern  white-pine  board 
o'  our'n,  squared  off  with  pencil-marks  and  pokeberry- 
juice.  These  is  facts  'at  history  herself  has  dug  out,  and 
of  course  it  ain't  fer  me  ner  you  to  turn  our  nose  up  at 
Checkers,  whuther  we  ever  tamper  with  the  fool-game  er 
not.  Fur's  that's  concerned,  I  don't  p'tend  to  be  no 
checker-player  myse'f, — ^but  I  know'd  a  feller  onc't  'at 
could  play,  and  sorto'  made  a  business  of  it ;  and  that  man, 
in  my  opinion,  was  a  geenyus !  Name  wuz  Wesley  Cot- 
terl — John  Wesley  Cotterl — jest  plain  Wes,  as  us  fellers 
round  the  Shoe-Shop  ust  to  call  him;  ust  to  alius  make 

156 


JAMES    WHITCOMB    RILEY 

the  Shoe-Shop  his  headquarters-hke ;  and,  rain  er  shine, 
wet  er  dry,  yoiv  d  alkis  find  IVcs  on  hands,  ready  to  banter 
some  feller  fer  a  game,  er  jest  a-settin'  humped  up  there 
over  the  checker-board  all  alone,  a-cipher'n'  out  some  new 
move  er  'nuther,  and  whistlin'  low  and  solem'  to  hisse'f- 
like  and  a-payin'  no  attention  to  nobody. 

And  I'll  tell  you,  Wes  Cotterl  wuz  no  man's  fool,  as  sly 
as  you  keep  it !  He  wuz  a  deep  thinker,  Wes  wuz ;  and  ef 
he'd  'a'  jest  turned  that  mind  o'  his  loose  on  preachin', 
fer  instunce,  and  the  'terpertation  o'  the  Bible,  don't  you 
know,  Wes  'ud  'a'  worked  p'ints  out  o'  there  'at  no  livin' 
expounderers  ever  got  in  gunshot  of! 

But  Wes  he  didn't  'pear  to  be  cut  out  fer  nothin'  much 
but  jest  Checker-playin'.  Oh,  of  course,  he  could  knock 
round  his  own  woodpile  some,  and  garden  a  little,  more 
er  less;  and  the  neighbers  ust  to  find  Wes  purty  handy 
'bout  trimmin'  fruit-trees,  you  understand,  and  workin' 
in  among  the  worms  and  cattapillers  in  the  vines  and 
shrubbery,  and  the  like.  And  handlin'  bees ! — They  wuzn't 
no  man  under  the  heavens  'at  knowed  more  'bout  handlin' 
bees'n  Wes  Cotterl ! — "Settlin'  "  the  blame'  things  when 
they  wuz  a-swarmin';  and  a-robbin'  hives,  and  all  sich 
fool-resks.  W'y,  I've  saw  Wes  Cotterl,  'fore  now,  when 
a  swarm  of  bees  'ud  settle  in  a'  orchard, — like  they  will 
sometimes,  you  know, — I've  saw  Wes  Cotterl  jest  roll  up 
his  shirt-sleeves  and  bend  down  a'  apple  tree  limb  'at  wuz 
jest  kivvered  with  the  pesky  things,  and  scrape  'em  back 
into  the  hive  with  his  naked  hands,  by  the  quart  and  gal- 
lon, and  never  git  a  scratch !  You  couldn't  hire  a  bee  to 
sting  Wes  Cotterl!  But  lazy? — I  think  that  man  had 
railly  ort  to  'a'  been  a'  Injun !  He  wuz  the  fust  and  on'y 
man  'at  ever  I  laid  eyes  on  'at  wuz  too  lazy  to  drap  a 
checker-man  to  p'int  out  the  right  road  fer  a  feller  'at 
ast  him  onc't  the  way  to  Burke's  Mill ;  and  Wes,  'ithout 

157 


CHAMPION  CHECKER-PLAYER  OF  AMERIKY 

ever  a-liftin'  eye  er  finger,  jest  sorto'  crooked  out  that 
mouth  o'  his'n  in  the  direction  the  feller  wanted,  and 
says :  "H-yonder!"  and  went  on  with  his  whistlin'.  But 
all  this  hain't  Checkers,  and  that's  what  I  started  out  to 
tell  ye. 

Wes  had  a  way  o'  jest  natchurly  a-cleanin'  out  any- 
body and  ever'body  'at  'ud  he'p  hold  up  a  checker-board ! 
Wes  wuzn't  what  you'd  call  a  lively  player  at  all,  ner  a 
competiter  'at  talked  much  'crost  the  board  er  made  much 
furse  over  a  game  whilse  he  zvui:  a-playin'.  He  had  his 
faults,  o'  course,  and  zvoiild  take  back  moves  'casion'ly, 
er  inch  up  on  you  ef  you  didn't  watch  him,  mebby.  But, 
as  a  rule,  Wes  had  the  insight  to  grasp  the  idy  of  who- 
ever wuz  a-playin'  ag'in'  him,  and  his  style  o'  game,  you 
understand,  and  wuz  on  the  lookout  continual' ;  and  under 
sich  circumstances  coidd  play  as  honest  a  game  o'  Check- 
ers as  the  babe  unborn. 

One  thing  in  Wes's  favor  alius  wuz  the  feller's  temper. 
— Nothin'  'peared  to  aggervate  Wes,  and  nothin'  on  earth 
could  break  his  slow  and  lazy  way  o'  takin'  his  own  time 
fer  ever'thing.  You  jest  coiddnt  crozvd  Wes  er  git  him 
rattled  anyway. — Jest  'peared  to  have  one  fixed  principle, 
and  that  wuz  to  take  plenty  o'  time,  and  never  make  no 
move  'ithout  a-ciphern'n'  ahead  on  the  prob'ble  conse- 
quences, don't  you  understand !  *'Be  shore  you're  right," 
Wes  'ud  say,  a-lettin'  up  fer  a  second  on  that  low  and 
sorry-like  little  wind-through-the-keyhole  whistle  o'  his, 
and  a-nosin'  out  a  place  whur  he  could  swap  one  man  fer 
two. — "Be  shore  you're  right" — and  somep'n'  after  this 
style  wuz  Wes's  way:  "Be  shore  you'r^right" — (whis- 
tling a  long,  lonesome  bar  of  "Barbara  Allen") — "and 
then" — (another  long,  retarded  bar) — "go  ahead!" — and 
by  the  time  the  feller  'ud  git  through  with  his  whistlin', 
and  a-stoppin'  and  a-startin'  in  ag'in,  he'd  be  about  three 

158 


JAMES   WHITCOMB    RILEY 

men  ahead  to  your  one.  And  then  he'd  jest  go  on  with 
his  whistHn'  'sef  nothin'  had  happened,  and  mebby  you 
a-jest  a-rearin'  and  a-calHn'  him  all  the  mean,  outlandish, 
ornry  names  'at  you  could  lay  tongue  to. 

But  Wes's  good  nature,  I  reckon,  was  the  thing  'at 
he'ped  him  out  as  much  as  any  other  p'ints  the  feller  had. 
And  Wes  'ud  alius  win,  in  the  long  run! — I  don't  keer 
who  played  ag'inst  him!  It  was  on'y  a  question  o'  time 
with  Wes  o'  waxin'  it  to  the  best  of  'em.  Lots  o'  players 
has  tackled  Wes,  and  right  at  the  start  'ud  mebby  give 
him  trouble, — but  in  the  long  run,  now  mind  ye — itv  the 
long  run,  no  mortal  man,  I  reckon,  had  any  business  o' 
rubbin'  knees  with  Wes  Cotterl  under  no  airthly  checker- 
board in  all  this  vale  o'  tears ! 

I  mind  onc't  th'  come  along  a  high-toned  feller  from  in 
around  In'i'nop'lus  somers. — Wuz  a  lazuyer,  er  some  p'fes- 
sional  kind  o'  man.  Had  a  big  yaller,  luther-kivvered 
book  under  his  arm,  and  a  bunch  o'  these-'ere  big  en- 
velo^'s  and  a  lot  o'  suppeenies  stickin'  out  o'  his  breast- 
pocket. Mighty  slick-lookin'  feller  he  wuz ;  wore  a  stove- 
pipe hat,  sorto'  set  'way  back  on  his  head — so's  to  show 
off  his  Giner'l  Jackson  forr'ed,  don't  you  know !  Well-sir, 
this  feller  struck  the  place,  on  some  business  er  other,  and 
then  missed  the  hack  'at  ort  to  'a'  tuk  him  out  o'  here 
sooner'n  it  did  take  him  out ! — And  whilse  he  wuz  a-loaf- 
in'  round,  sorto'  lonesome — like  a  feller  alius  is  in  a 
strange  place,  you  know — he  kindo'  drapped  in  on  our 
crowd  at  the  Shoe-Shop,  ostenchably  to  git  a  boot-strop 
stitched  on,  but  /  knowed,  the  minute  he  set  foot  in  the 
door,  'at  tJiat  feller  wanted  comp'ny  wuss'n  cobblin'. 

Well,  as  good  luck  would  have  it,  there  set  Wes,  as 
usual,  with  the  checker-board  in  his  lap,  a-playin'  all  by 
hisse'f,  and  a-whistlin'  so  low  and  solem'-like  and  sad  it 
railly  made  the  crowd  seem  like  a  religious  getherun'  o' 

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CHAMPION  CHECKER-PLAYER  OF  AMERIKY 

some  kind  er  other,  we  wuz  all  so  quiet  and  still-like,  as 
the  man  come  in. 

Well,  the  stranger  stated  his  business,  set  down,  tuk 
off  his  boot,  and  set  there  nussin'  his  foot  and  talkin' 
weather  fer  ten  minutes,  I  reckon,  'fore  he  ever  'peared 
to  notice  Wes  at  all.  We  wuz  all  back'ard,  anyhow,  'bout 
talkin'  much ;  besides,  we  knowed,  long  afore  he  come  in, 
all  about  how  hot  the  weather  wuz,  and  the  pore  chance 
there  wuz  o'  rain,  and  all  that;  and  so  the  subject  had 
purty  well  died  out,  when  jest  then  the  feller's  eyes  struck 
Wes  and  the  checker-board, — and  Til  never  fergit  the 
warm,  salvation  smile  'at  flashed  over  him  at  the  prom- 
isin'  discovery.  "What!"  says  he,  a-grinnin'  like  a'  angel 
and  a-edgin'  his  cheer  to'rds  Wes,  "have  we  a  checker- 
board and  checkers  here  ?" 

"We  hev,"  says  I,  knowin'  'at  Wes  wouldn't  let  go  o' 
that  whistle  long  enough  to  answer — more'n  to  mebby 
nod  his  head. 

"And  who  is  your  best  player?"  says  the  feller,  kindo' 
pitiful-like,  with  another  inquirin'  look  at  Wes. 

"Him,"  says  I,  a-pokin'  Wes  with  a  peg-float.  But 
Wes  on'y  spit  kindo'  absent-like,  and  went  on  with  his 
whistlin'. 

"Much  of  a  player,  is  he?"  says  the  feller,  with  a  sorto* 
doubtful  smile  at  Wes  ag'in. 

"Plays  a  purty  good  hick'ry,"  says  I,  a-pokin'  Wes 
ag'in.  "Wes,"  says  I,  "here's  a  gentleman  'at  'ud  mebby 
like  to  take  a  hand  with  you  there,  and  give  you  a  few 
idys,"  says  I. 

"Yes,"  says  the  stranger,  eager-like,  a-settin'  his  plug- 
hat  keerful'  up  in  the  empty  shelvin',  and  a-rubbin'  his 
hands  and  smilin'  as  confident-like  as  old  Hoyle  hisse'f, — 
"Yes,  indeed,  I'd  be  glad  to  give  the  gentleman"  (meanin' 
Wes)  "a'  idy  er  two  about  Checkers — ef  he'd  jest  as  lief, 

i6o 


JAMES    WHITCOMB    RILEY 

— 'cause  I  reckon  ef  there're  any  one  thing  'at  I  do  know 
more  about  'an  another,  it's  Checkers,"  says  he;  "and 
there're  no  game  'at  dehghts  me  more — pcrvidin',  o' 
course,  I  find  a  competiter  'at  kin  make  it  anyways  in- 
ter^^^in'." 

"Got  much  of  a  rickord  on  Checkers?"  says  I. 

"Well,"  says  the  feller,  "I  don't  like  to  brag,  but  I've 
never  hen  beat — in  any  legitimut  contest,"  says  he,  "and 
I've  played  more'n  one  o'  them,"  he  says,  "here  and  there 
round  the  country.  Of  course,  your  friend  here,"  he  went 
on,  smilin'  sociable  at  Wes,  "Jie'll  take  it  all  in  good  part 
ef  I  should  happen  to  lead  him  a  little — jest  as  I'd  do,"  he 
says,  "ef  it  wuz  possible  fer  him  to  lead  me." 

"Wes,"  says  I,  "has  warmed  the  wax  in  the  yeers  of 
some  mighty  good  checker-players,"  says  I,  as  he  squared 
the  board  around,  still  a-whistlin'  to  hisse'f-like,  as  the 
stranger  tuk  his  place,  a-smilin'-like  and  roachin'  back 
his  hair. 

"Move,"  says  Wes. 

"No,"  says  the  feller,  with  a  polite  flourish  of  his  hand ; 
"the  first  move  shall  be  your'n."  And,  by  jucks!  fer  all 
he  wouldn't  take  even  the  advantage  of  a  starter,  he  flaxed 
it  to  Wes  the  fust  game  in  less'n  fifteen  minutes. 

"Right  shore  you've  give'  me  your  best  player?"  he 
says,  smilin'  round  at  the  crowd,  as  Wes  set  squarin'  the 
board  fer  another  game  and  whistlin'  as  onconcerned-like 
as  ef  nothin'  had  happened  more'n  ordinary. 

"  'S  your  move,"  says  Wes,  a-squintin'  out  into  the 
game  'bout  forty  foot  from  shore,  and  a-whistlin'  purt' 
nigh  in  a  whisper. 

Well-sir,  it  'peared-like  the  feller  railly  didn't  try  to 
play ;  and  you  could  see,  too,  'at  Wes  knowed  he'd  about 
met  his  match,  and  played  accordin'.  He  didn't  make  no 
move  at  all  'at  he  didn't  give  keerful  thought  to ;  whilse 

i6i 


CHAMPION  CHECKER-PLAYER  OF  AMERIKY 

the  feller — !  well,  as  I  wuz  sayin',  it  jest  'peared-like 
Checkers  wuz  child's-play  fer  him !  Putt  in  most  o'  the 
time  'long  through  the  game  a-sayin'  things  calkilated  to 
kindo'  bore  a'  ordinary  man.  But  Wes  helt  hisse'f  purty 
level,  and  didn't  show  no  signs,  and  kep'  up  his  whistling 
mighty  well — considerin'. 

"Reckon  you  play  the  Mdle,  too,  as  well  as  Checkers f" 
says  the  feller,  laughin',  as  Wes  come  a-whistlin'  out  of 
the  little  end  of  the  second  game  and  went  on  a-fixin'  fer 
the  next  round. 

"  'S  my  move!"  says  Wes,  'thout  seemin'  to  notice  the 
feller's  tantalizin'  words  whatsomever. 

"'L!  this  time,"  thinks  I,  "Mr.  Smarty  from  the 
w^trolopin  deestricts,  you're  liable  to  git  waxed — shore!" 
But  the  feller  didn't  'pear  to  think  so  at  all,  and  played 
right  ahead  as  glib-like  and  keerless  as  ever — 'casion'ly 
a-throwin'  in  them  sircastic  remarks  o'  his'n, — 'bout  be- 
in'  "slow  and  shore"  'bout  things  in  gineral — "Liked  to 
see  that,"  he  said : — "Liked  to  see  fellers  do  things  with 
plenty  o'  deliberation,  and  even  ef  a  feller  zvusn't  much 
of  a  checker-player,  liked  to  see  him  die  slow  anyhow! — 
and  then  'tend  his  own  funeral,"  he  says, — "and  march  in 
the  p'session — to  his  own  music,"  says  he. — And  jest  then 
his  remarks  wuz  brung  to  a  close  by  Wes  a-jumpin'  two 
men,  and  a-lightin'  square  in  the  king-row.  .  .  . 
"Crown  that,"  says  Wes,  a-droppin'  back  into  his  old 
tune.  And  fer  the  rest  o'  that  game  Wes  helt  the  feller 
purty  level,  but  had  to  finally  knock  under — but  by  jest 
the  clos'test  kind  o'  shave  o'  winnin'. 

"They  ain't  much  use,"  says  the  feller,  "o'  keepin'  this 
thing  tip — 'less  I  could  manage,  some  way  er  other,  to  git 
beat  onc't  'it  a  zvhile!" 

"Move,"  says  Wes,  a-drappin'^  back  into  the  same  old 
whistle  and  di-scttlin'  there. 

162 


JAMES    WHITCOMB    RILEY 

"  'Music  has  charms,'  as  the  Good  Book  tells  us,"  says 
the  feller,  kindo'  nervous-like,  and  a-roachin'  his  hair 
back  as  ef  some  sort  o'  p'tracted  headache  wuz  a-settin'  in. 

''Never  wuz  'skunked,'  wuz  ye?"  says  Wes,  kindo'  sud- 
dent-like,  with  a  fur-off  look  in  them  big  white  eyes  o'  his 
— and  then  a-whistlin'  right  on  'sef  he  hadn't  said  nothin'. 

"Not  much!"  says  the  feller,  sorto'  s'prised-like,  as  ef 
such  a'  idy  as  that  had  never  struck  him  afore. — "Never 
was  'skunked'  myse'f:  but  I've  saw  fellers  in  my  time  'at 
wus!"  says  he. 

But  from  that  time  on  I  noticed  the  feller  'peared  to 
play  more  keerful,  and  railly  la'nched  into  the  game  with 
somepin'  like  inter'st.  Wes  he  seemed  to  be  jest  a-limber- 
in'-up-like;  and-sir,  blame  me!  ef  he  didn't  walk  the  fel- 
ler's log  fer  him  that  time,  'thout  no  'pearent  trouble  at 
all! 

"And,  nozv,"  says  Wes,  all  quiet-like,  a-squarin'  the 
board  fer  another'n, — "we're  kindo'  gittin'  at  things  right. 
Move."  And  away  went  that  little  unconcerned  whistle 
o'  his  ag'in,  and  Mr.  Cityman  jest  gittin'  white  and 
sweaty  too — he  wuz  so  nervous.  Ner  he  didn't  'pear  to 
find  much  to  laugh  at  in  the  next  game — ner  the  next  tzuo 
games  nuther!  Things  wuz  a-gettin'  mighty  inter^.?^in' 
'bout  them  times,  and  I  guess  the  feller  wuz  ser'ous-like 
a-wakin'  up  to  the  solem'  fact  'at  it  tuk  'bout  all  his  spare 
time  to  keep  up  his  end  o'  the  row,  and  even  that  state  o' 
pore  satisfaction  wuz  a-creepin'  furder  and  furder  away 
from  him  ever'  new  turn  he  undertook.  Whilse  Wes  jest 
'peared  to  git  more  deliber't'  and  certain  ever'  game ;  and 
that  unendin'  se'f-satisfied  and  comfortin'  little  whistle  o' 
his  never  drapped  a  stitch,  but  toed  out  ever'  game  alike, 
— to'rds  the  last,  and,  fer  the  most  part,  disasterss  to  the 
feller  'at  had  started  in  with  sich  confidence  and  actchul 
promise,  don't  you  know. 

163 


CHAMPION  CHECKER-PLAYER  OF  AMERIKY, 

Well-sir,  the  feller  stuck  the  whole  forenoon  out,  and 
then  the  afternoon;  and  then  knuckled  down  to  it  'way 
into  the  night — yes,  and  plum  midnight! — And  he  buckled 
into  the  thing  bright  and  airly  next  morning!  And-sir, 
fer  tzvo  long  days  and  nights,  a-hardly  a-stoppin'  long 
enough  to  eat,  the  feller  stuck  it  out, — and  Wes  a- jest 
a-warpin'  it  to  him  hand-over-fist,  and  leavin'  him  furder 
behind,  ever'  game ! — till  finally,  to'rds  the  last,  the  feller 
got  so  blamedon  worked  up  and  excited-like,  he  jes' 
■'peared  actchully  purt'  nigh  plum  crazy  and  histurical  as 
a  woman ! 

It  was  a-gittin'  late  into  the  shank  of  the  second  day, 
and  the  boys  hed  jest  lit  a  candle  fer  'em  to  finish  out  one 
of  the  clost'est  games  the  feller'd  played  Wes  fer  some 
time.  But  Wes  wuz  jest  as  cool  and  ca'm  as  ever,  and  still 
a-whistlin'  consolin'  to  hisse'f-like,  whilse  the  feller  jest 
'peared  wore  out  and  ready  to  drap  right  in  his  tracks 
any  minute. 

"Durn  yon!"  he  snarled  out  at  Wes,  "hain't  you  never 
goern  to  move?"  And  there  set  Wes,  a-balancin'  a  check- 
er-man above  the  board,  a-studyin'  whur  to  set  it,  and 
a-fillin'  in  the  time  with  that-air  whistle. 

"Flames  and  flashes!"  says  the  feller  ag'in,  "will  you 
ever  stop  that  death-seducin'  tune  o'  your'n  long  enough 
to  move?" — And  as  Wes  deliber't'ly  set  his  man  down 
whur  the  feller  see  he'd  haf  to  jump  it  and  lose  two  men 
and  a  king,  Wes  wuz  a-singin',  low  and  sad-like,  as  ef  all 
to  hisse'f : 

"O  we'll  move  that  man,  and  leave  him  there. — 
Fer  the  love  of  B-a-r-b — ^bry  Al-len!" 

Well-sir!  the  feller  jest  jumped  to  his  feet,  upset  the 
board,  and  tore  out  o'  the  shop  stark-starin'  crazy — blame 
ef  he  wuzn't ! — 'cause  some  of  us  putt  out  after  him  and 
overtook  him  'way  beyent  the  'pike-bridge,  and  hollered 

164 


JAMES    WHITCOMB    RILEY. 

to  him ; — and  he  shiik  his  fist  at  us  and  hollered  back  and 
says,  says  he:  "Ef  you  fellers  over  here,"  says  he,  "'11 
agree  to  muscle  that  durn  checker-player  o'  your'n,  I'll 
bet  fifteen  hunderd  dollars  to  fifteen  cents  'at  I  kin  beat 
him  'leven  games  out  of  ever'  dozent!- — But  there' re  no 
money/'  he  says,  "  'at  kin  hire  me  to  play  him  ag'in,  on 
this  aboundin'  airth,  on'y  on  them  conditions — 'cause  that 
durn,  eternal,  infernal,  dad-blasted  whistle  o'  his  'ud  beat 
the  oldest  man  in  Ameriky !" 


165 


DARBY  AND  JOAN 

BY   ST.    JOHN    HONEYWOOD 


When  Darby  saw  the  setting  sun, 
He  swung  his  scythe,  and  home  he  run. 
Sat  down,  drank  off  his  quart,  and  said, 
"My  work  is  done,  I'll  go  to  bed." 
"My  work  is  done !"  retorted  Joan, 
"My  work  is  done !  your  constant  tone ; 
But  hapless  woman  ne'er  can  say, 
*My  work  is  done,'  till  judgment  day. 
You  men  can  sleep  all  night,  but  we 
Must  toil."— "Whose  fault  is  that?"  quoth  he. 
"I  know  your  meaning,"  Joan  replied, 
"But,  Sir,  my  tongue  shall  not  be  tied; 
I  will  go  on,  and  let  you  know 
What  work  poor  women  have  to  do : 
First,  in  the  morning,  though  we  feel 
As  sick  as  drunkards  when  they  reel ; 
Yes,  feel  such  pains  in  back  and  head 
As  would  confine  you  men  to  bed. 
We  ply  the  brush,  we  wield  the  broom, 
We  air  the  beds,  and  right  the  room ; 
The  cows  must  next  be  milked — and  then 
We  get  the  breakfast  for  the  men. 
Ere  this  is  done,  with  whimpering  cries, 
And  bristly  hair,  the  children  rise ; 
i66 


ST.    JOHN    HONEYWOOD 

These  must  be  dressed,  and  dosed  with  rue, 

And  fed — and  all  because  of  you : 

We  next" —  Here  Darby  scratched  his  head, 

And  stole  off  grumbling  to  his  bed ; 

And  only  said,  as  on  she  run, 

"Zounds !  woman's  clack  is  never  done." 


II 


At  early  dawn,  ere  Phoebus  rose, 
Old  Joan  resumed  her  tale  of  woes ; 
When  Darby  thus — "I'll  end  the  strife. 
Be  you  the  man  and  I  the  wife : 
Take  you  the  scythe  and  mow,  while  I 
Will  all  your  boasted  cares  supply." 
"Content,"  quoth  Joan,  "give  me  my  stint.' 
This  Darby  did,  and  out  she  went. 
Old  Darby  rose  and  seized  the  broom, 
And  whirled  the  dirt  about  the  room : 
Which  having  done,  he  scarce  knew  how, 
He  hied  to  milk  the  brindled  cow. 
The  brindled  cow  whisked  round  her  tail 
In  Darby's  eyes,  and  kicked  the  pail. 
The  clown,  perplexed  with  grief  and  pain. 
Swore  he'd  ne'er  try  to  milk  again : 
When  turning  round,  in  sad  amaze. 
He  saw  his  cottage  in  a  blaze : 
For  as  he  chanced  to  brush  the  room, 
In  careless  haste,  he  fired  the  broom. 
The  fire  at  last  subdued,  he  swore 
The  broom  and  he  would  meet  no  more. 
Pressed  by  misfortune,  and  perplexed, 
Darby  prepared  for  breakfast  next ; 
167 


DARBY    AND   JOAN 

But  what  to  get  he  scarcely  knew — 
The  bread  was  spent,  the  butter  too. 
His  hands  bedaubed  with  paste  and  flour, 
Old  Darby  labored  full  an  hour : 
But,  luckless  wight !  thou  couldst  not  make 
The  bread  take  form  of  loaf  or  cake. 
As  every  door  wide  open  stood. 
In  pushed  the  sow  in  quest  of  food ; 
And,  stumbling  onward,  with  her  snout 
O'erset  the  churn — the  cream  ran  out. 
As  Darby  turned,  the  sow  to  beat, 
The  slippery  cream  betrayed  his  feet ; 
He  caught  the  bread  trough  in  his  fall. 
And  down  came  Darby,  trough,  and  all. 
The  children,  wakened  by  the  clatter. 
Start  up,  and  cry,  "Oh !  what's  the  matter?" 
Old  Jowler  barked,  and  Tabby  mewed, 
And  hapless  Darby  bawled  aloud, 
*'Return,  my  Joan,  as  heretofore, 
I'll  play  the  housewife's  part  no  more: 
Since  now,  by  sad  experience  taught, 
Compared  to  thine  my  work  is  naught ; 
Henceforth,  as  business  calls,  I'll  take. 
Content,  the  plough,  the  scythe,  the  rake, 
And  never  more  transgress  the  line 
Our  fates  have  marked,  while  thou  art  mine. 
Then,  Joan,  return,  as  heretofore, 
I'll  vex  thy  honest  soul  no  more ; 
Let's  each  our  proper  task  attend — 
Forgive  the  past,  and  strive  to  mend." 


i68 


WHEN  THE  FROST  IS  ON  THE  PUNKIN 

BY   JAMES   WHITCOMB    RILEY 

When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the 

shock, 
And  you  hear  the  kyouck  and  gobble  of  the  struttin' 

turkey-cock, 
And  the  clackin'  of  the  guineys,  and  the  cluckin'  of  the 

hens, 
And  the  rooster's  hallelooyer  as  he  tiptoes  on  the  fence, 
Oh,  it's  then's  the  time  a  feller  is  a  feelin'  at  his  best. 
With  the  risin'  sun  to  greet  him  from  a  night  of  gracious 

rest, 
As  he  leaves  the  house  bareheaded  and  goes  out  to  feed 

the  stock, 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the 

shock. 

There's  sompin  kind  o'  hearty-like  about  the  atmosphere 
When  the  heat  of  summer's  over  and  the  coolin'  fall  is 

here. 
Of  course  we  miss  the  flowers,  and  the  blossoms  on  the 

trees. 
And  the  mumble  of  the  hummin'-birds  and  the  buzzin'  of 

the  bees ; 
But  the  air's  so  appetizin',  and  the  landscape  through  the 

haze 
Of  a  crisp  and  sunny  morning  of  the  early  autumn  days 
Is  a  picture  that  no  painter  has  the  colorin'  to  mock. 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the 

shock. 

169 


WHEN   THE   FROST   IS    ON   THE   PUNKIN 

The  husky,  rusty  rustle  of  the  tassels  of  the  corn, 

And  the  raspin'  of  the  tangled  leaves  as  golden  as  the 

morn; 
The  stubble  in  the  furries — kind  o'  lonesome  like,  but  still 
A  preachin'  sermons  to  us  of  the  barns  they  growed  to  fill ; 
The  straw-stack  in  the  medder,  and  the  reaper  in  the  shed, 
The  bosses  in  their  stalls  below,  the  clover  overhead, — 
Oh,  it  sets  my  heart  a  clickin'  like  the  tickin'  of  a  clock, 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the 

shock. 


170 


LAFFING 

BY   JOSH    BILLINGS 

Anatomikally  konsidered,  laffing  iz  the  sensation  ov 
pheeling  good  all  pver,  and  showing  it  principally  in  one 
spot. 

Morally  konsidered,  it  iz  the  next  best  thing  tew  the  lo 
commandments.     .     .     . 

Theoretikally  konsidered,  it  kan  out-argy  all  the  logik 
in  existence.     ... 

Pyroteknikally  konsidered,  it  is  the  iire-works  of  the 
soul.     .     .-     . 

But  i  don't  intend  this  essa  for  laffing  in  the  lump,  but 
for  laffing  on  the  half-shell. 

Laffing  iz  just  az  natral  tew  cum  tew  the  surface  az  a 
rat  iz  tew  cum  out  pv  hiz  hole  when  he  wants  tew. 

Yu  kant  keep  it  back  by  swallowing  enny  more  than  yu 
kan  the  heekups. 

If  a  man  kan't  laff  there  iz  sum  mistake  made  in  putting 
him  together,  and  if  he  won't  laff  he  wants  az  mutch  keep- 
ing away  from  az  a  bear-trap  when  it  iz  sot. 

I  have  seen  people  who  laffed  altogether  too  mutch  for 
their  own  good  or  for  ennyboddy  else's ;  they  laft  like  a 
barrell  ov  nu  sider  with  the  tap  pulled  out,  a  perfekt 
stream. 

This  is  a  grate  waste  ov  natral  juice. 

I  have  seen  other  people  who  didn't  laff  enuff  tew  giv 
themselfs  vent;  they  waz  like  a  barrell  ov  nu  sider  too, 
that  waz  bunged  up  tite,  apt  tew  start  a  hoop  and  leak 
all  away  on  the  sly. 

171 


LAFFING 

Thare  ain't  neither  ov  theze  2  ways  right,  and  they 
never  ought  tew  be  pattented.     .     .     . 

Genuine  laffing  iz  the  vent  ov  the  soul,  the  nostrils  of 
the  heart,  and  iz  just  az  necessary  for  health  and  happi- 
ness az  spring  water  iz  for  a  trout. 

Thare  iz  one  kind  ov  a  laff  that  i  always  did  rekom- 
mend ;  it  looks  out  ov  the  eye  fust  with  a  merry  twinkle, 
then  it  kreeps  down  on  its  hands  and  kneze  and  plays 
around  the  mouth  like  a  pretty  moth  around  the  blaze  ov 
a  kandle,  then  it  steals  over  into  the  dimples  ov  the  cheeks 
and  rides  around  into  thoze  little  whirlpools  for  a  while, 
then  it  lites  up  the  whole  face  like  the  mello  bloom  on  a 
damask  rpze,  then  it  swims  oph  on  the  air  with  a  peal  az 
klear  and  az  happy  az  a  dinner-bell,  then  it  goes  bak  agin 
on  golden  tiptoze  like  an  angel  out  for  an  airing,  and  laze 
down  on  its  little  bed  ov  violets  in  the  heart  where  it  cum 
from. 

Thare  iz  another  laff  that  nobody  kan  withstand ;  it  iz 
just  az  honest  and  noisy  az  a  distrikt  skool  let  out  tew 
play,  it  shakes  a  man  up  from  hiz  toze  tew  hiz  temples, 
it  dubbles  and  twists  him  like  a  whiskee  phit,  it  lifts  him 
oph  from  his  cheer,  like  feathers,  and  lets  him  bak  agin 
like  melted  led,  it  goes  all  thru  him  like  a  pikpocket,  and 
finally  leaves  him  az  weak  and  az  krazy  az  tho  he  had  bin 
soaking  all  day  in  a  Rushing  bath  and  forgot  to  be  took 
out. 

This  kind  ov  a  laff  belongs  tew  jolly  good  phellows 
who  are  az  healthy  az  quakers,  and  who  are  az  eazy  tew 
pleaze  az  a  gall  who  iz  going  tew  be  married  to-morrow. 

In  konclushion  i  say  laff  every  good  chance  yu  kan  git, 
but  don't  laff  unless  yu  feal  like  it,  for  there  ain't  nothing 
in  this  world  more  harty  than  a  good  honest  laff,  nor 
nothing  more  hollow  than  a  hartless  one. 

.When  yu  dp  laff  open  yure  mouth  wide  enuff  for  the 

172 


JOSH    BILLINGS 

noize  tew  git  out  without  squealing,  thro  yure  hed  bak 
az  tho  yu  waz  going  tew  be  shaved,  hold  on  tew  yure 
false  hair  with  both  hands  and  then  laff  till  yure  soul  gets 
thoroly  rested. 

But  i  shall  tell  yu  more  about  theze  things  at  sum 
fewter  time. 


173 


GRIZZLY-GRU 

BY   IRONQUILL 

0  Thoughts  of  the  past  and  present, 
O  whither,  and  whence,  and  where, 

Demanded  my  soul,  as  I  scaled  the  height 
Of  the  pine-clad  peak  in  the  somber  night, 
In  the  terebinthine  air. 

While  pondering  on  the  frailty 

Of  happiness,  hope,  and  mirth, 

The  ascending  sun  with  derisive  scoff 
Hurled  its  golden  lances  and  smote  me  pff 

From  the  bulge  of  the  restless  earth. 

Through  the  yellowish  dawn  of  velvet 
Where  stars  were  so  thickly  strewn. 

That  quietly  chuckled  as  I  passed  through', 

1  fell  in  the  gardens  of  Grizzly-Gru, 
On  the  mad,  mysterious  moon. 

I  fell  on  the  turquoise  ether. 

Low  down  in  the  wondrous  west, 

And  thence  to  the  moon  in  whose  yielding  blue 
Were  hidden  the  gardens  of  Grizzly-Gru, 

In  the  Monarchy  of  Unrest. 

And  there  were  the  fairy  gardens. 

Where  beautiful  cherubs  grew 

In  daintiest  way  and  on  separate  stalks, 
In  the  listed  rows  by  the  jasper  walks. 

Near  the  palace  of  Grizzly-Gru. 
174 


IRONQUILL 

While  strolling  around  the  garden; 

I  noticed  the  rows  were  full 

Of  every  conceivable  size  and  type — 
Some  that  were  buds,  and  some  nearly  ripe, 

'And  some  that  were  ready  to  pull. 

In  gauzy  and  white  corolla, 

Was  one  who  had  eyes  of  blue, 
A  little  excuse  of  a  baby  nose, 
Little  pink  ears,  and  ten  little  toes, 

And  a  mouth  that  kept  saying  ah-goo. 

Ah-gooing  as  I  came  near  her, 

She  raised  up  her  arms  in  glee — 

Her  little  fat  arms — and  she  seemed  to  say, 
*l'm  ready  to  go  with  you  right  away ; 

Don't  hunt  any  more — take  me." 

I  picked  her  off  quick  and  kissed  her,. 

And,  hugging  her  to  my  breast, 

I  heard  a  loud  yelling  that  pierced  me  thrpugh, 
'Twas  His  Terrible  Eminence,  Grizzly-Gru, 

Of  the  Monarchy  of  Unrest. 

He  had  on  a  blood-red  turban, 

A  picturesque  lot  of  clothes, 

With  big  moustaches  both  fierce  and  black. 
And  a  ghastly  saber  to  cut  and  hack. 

And  shoes  that  turned  up  at  the  toes. 

Out  of  the  gate  of  the  garden 

The  cherub  and  I  took  flight. 

And  closely  behind  us  the  saber  flew, 
And  back  of  the  saber  came  Grizzly-Gru, 

And  he  chased  us  all  day  till  night. 
i7S 


GRIZZLY-GRU 

I  ran  down  the  lunar  crescent, 

And  out  on  the  silver  horn ; 

I  kissed  the  baby  and  held  her  tight, 
And  jumped  down  into  the  starry  night, 

And — I  lit  on  the  earth  at  morn. 

He  fitfully  threw  his  saber, 

It  missed  and  went  round  the  sun ; 

He  followed  no  further,  he  was  not  rash, 
But  the  baby  held  on  to  my  coarse  moustache. 

And  seemed  to  enjoy  the  fun. 

In  saving  that  blue-eyed  baby 
From  the  gardens  of  Grizzly-Gru, 

I  suffered  a  terrible  shock  and  fright ; 

But  the  doctor  believes  it  will  be  all  right, 
And  he  thinks  he  can  pull  me  through. 


176 


JOHN  HENRY  IN  A  STREET  CAR 

BY  HUGH  McHUGH 

Throw  me  in  the  cellar  and  batten  down  the  hatches. 

I'm  a  wreck  in  the  key  of  G  flat. 

I  side-stepped  in  among  a  bunch  of  language-heavers 
yesterday  and  ever  since  I've  been  sitting  on  the  ragged 
edge  with  my  feet  hanging  over. 

I  was  on  my  way  down  to  Wall  Street  to  help  J.  Pier- 
pont  Morgan  buy  a  couple  of  railroads  and  all  the  world 
seemed  as  blithe  and  gay  as  a  love  clinch  from  Laura 
Jean  Libbey's  latest. 

When  I  climbed  into  the  cable-car  I  felt  like  a  man 
who  had  mailed  money  to  himself  the  night  before. 

I  was  aces. 

And  then  somebody  blew  out  my  gas. 

At  the  next  corner  two  society  flash-lights  flopped  in 
and  sat  next  to  me. 

They  had  a  lot  of  words  they  wanted  to  use  and  they 
started  in. 

The  car  stopped  and  two  more  of  the  400's  leading 
ladies  jumped  the  hurdles  and  came  down  the  aisle. 

They  sat  on  the  other  side  of  me. 

In  a  minute  they  began  to  bite  the  dictionary. 

Their  efforts  aroused  the  energies  of  three  women  who 
sat  opposite  me,  and  they  proceeded  to  beat  the  English 
language  black  and  blue. 

In  a  minute  the  air  was  so  full  of  talk  that  the  grip 
germs  had  to  pull  out  on  the  platform  and  chew  the  con- 
ductor. 

177 


JOHN   HENRY   IN    A    STREET    CAR 

The  next  one  to  me  on  my  left  started  in : 

"Oh,  yes ;  we  discharged  our  cook  day  before  yesterday, 
but  there's  another  coming  this  evening,  and  so — " 

Her  friend  broke  away  and  was  up  and  back  to  the 
center  with  this : 

"I  was  coming  down  Broadway  this  morning  and  I 
saw  JuHa  Marlowe's  leading  man.  I'm  sure  it  was  him, 
because  I  saw  the  show  once  in  Chicago  and  he  has  the 
loveliest  eyes  I  ever  looked  at !" 

I  knew  that  that  was  my  cue  to  walk  out,  kick  the 
motorman  in  the  knuckles,  upset  the  car  and  send  in  a  fire 
call,  but  I  passed  it  up. 

I  just  sat  there  and  bit  my  nails  like  the  heavy  villain 
in  one  of  Corse  Payton's  ten,  twen,  thir  dramas. 

That  "loveliest  eyes"  speech  had  me  groggy. 

Whenever  I  hear  a  woman  turn  on  that  "loveliest  eyes" 
gag  about  an  actor  I  always  feel  that  a  swift  slap  from  a 
wet  dish-rag  would  look  well  on  her  back  hair. 

Then  the  bunch  across  the  aisle  got  the  flag. 

"Well,  you  know,"  says  the  broad  lady  who  paid  for 
one  seat  and  was  compelled  by  Nature  to  use  three,  "you 
know  there's  only  five  in  our  family,  and  so  I  take  just 
five  slices  of  stale  bread  and  have  a  bowl  of  water  ready 
in  which  I've  dropped  a  pinch  of  salt.  Then  I  take  a 
piece  of  butter  about  the  size  of  a  walnut,  and  thoroughly 
grease  the  bottom  of  a  frying-pan ;  then  beat  five  eggs  to 
a  froth,  and — " 

I'm  hoping  the  conductor  will  come  in  and  give  us  all 
a  tip  to  take  to  the  timber  because  the  cops  are  going  to 
pinch  the  room,  but  there's  nothing  doing. 

One  of  the  dames  on  my  right  finds  her  voice  and  passes 
it  around : — 

"Oh,  I  think  it's  a  perfect  fright!  I  always  did  detest 
electric  blue,  anyway.  It  is  so  unbecoming,  and  then — " 

178 


HUGH    McHUGH 

I've  just  decided  that  this  lady  ought  to  make  up  as  a 
Swede  servant  girl  and  play  the  part,  when  her  friend 
hooks  in : 

"Oh,  yes ;  I  think  it  will  look  perfectly  sweet !  It  is  a 
foulard  in  one  of  those  new  heliotrope  tints,  made  with  a 
crepe  de  chine  chemisette,  with  a  second  vest  peeping  out 
on  either  side  of  the  front  over  an  embroidered  satin  vest 
and  cut  in  scallops  on  the  edge,  finished  with  a  full  ruche 
of  white  chiffon,  and  the  sleeves  are  just  too  tight  for  any 
use,  and  the  skirt  is  too  long  for  any  good,  and  I  declare 
the  lining  is  too  sweet !  and  I  just  hate  to  wear  it  out  on 
the  street  and  get  it  soiled,  and  I  was  going  to  have  it 
made  with  a  tunic,  and  Mrs.  Wigwag — that's  my  brother- 
in-law's  first  cousin — she  had  her's  made  to  wear  with 
guimpes — and  they  are  so  economical !  and — " 

Think  of  a  guy  having  to  ride  four  miles  and  get  his 
forehead  fanned  all  the  while  with  talk  about  foulard  and 
crepe  de  chine  and  guimpes ! 

Wouldn't  it  lead  you  to  a  padded  cell  ? 

Say !  I  was  down  and  out — no  kidding ! 

I  wanted  to  get  up  and  fight  the  door-tender,  but  I 
couldn't. 

One  of  the  conversationalists  was  sitting  on  my  over- 
coat. 

I  felt  that  if  I  got  up  and  called  my  coat  back  to  Papa 
she  might  lose  the  thread  of  her  story,  and  the  jar  would 
be  something  frightful. 

So  I  sat  still  and  saved  her  life. 

The  one  on  my  right  must  have  been  the  La'dy  Presi- 
dent of  The  Hammer  Club. 

She  was  talking  about  some  other  girl  and  she  didn't 
do  a  thing  to  the  absent  one. 

She  said  she  was  svelte. 

I  suppose  that's  Dago  for  a  shine. 

179 


JOHN    HENRY    IN    A    STREET    CAR 

That's  the  way  with  some  women.  They  can't  come 
right  out  and  call  another  woman  a  polish.  They  have  to 
beat  around  the  bush  and  chase  their  friends  to  the 
swamps  by  throwing  things  like  "svelte"  at  them.   Tush! 

I  tried  to  duck  the  foreign  tattle  on  my  right  and  by 
so  doing  I'm  next  to  this  on  my  left : 

"Oh,  yes;  I  think  politics  is  just  too  lovely!  I  don't 
know  whether  I'd  rather  be  a  Democrat  or  a  Republican, 
but  I  think — oh !  just  look  at  the  hat  that  woman  has  on ! 
Isn't  that  a  fright  ?  Wonder  if  she  trimmed  it  herself.  Of 
course  she  did ;  you  can  tell  by — " 

I'm  gasping  for  breath  when  the  broad  lady  across  the 
aisle  gets  the  floor : 

"No,  indeed!  I  didn't  have  Eliza  vaccinated.  Why, 
she's  too  small  yet,  and  don't  you  know  my  sister's  hus- 
band's brother's  child  was  vaccinated,  and  she  is  younger 
than  our  Eliza,  but  I  don't  just  care,  I  don't  want — " 

Then  the  sweet  girlish  thing  on  my  left  gave  me  the 
corkscrew  jab. 

It  was  the  finish : 

"Isn't  that  lovely  ?  Well,  as  I  was  telling  you,  Charlie 
came  last  night  and  brought  Mr.  Storeclose  with  him. 
Mr.  Storeclose  is  awfully  nice.  He  plays  the  mandolin 
just  too  sweet  for  anything,  and — " 

Me ! — to  the  oyster  beds !  No  male  Impersonators  gar- 
roting  a  mandolin — not  any  in  mine ! 

When  I  want  to  take  a  course  in  music  I'll  climb  into 
a  public  library  and  read  how  Baldy  Sloane  wrote  the 
Tiger  Lily  with  one  hand  tied  behind  him  and  his  feet  on 
the  piano. 

So  I  fell  off  the  car  and  crawled  home  to  mother. 


1 80 


THE  MUSKEETER 

BY   JOSH    BILLINGS 

Muskeeters  are  a  game  bug,  but  they  won't  bite  at  a 
hook.  Thare  iz  millyuns  ov  them  kaught  every  year,  but 
not  with  a  hook,  this  makes  the  market  for  them  unstiddy, 
the  supply  allways  exceeding  the  demand.  The  muskeeto 
iz  born  on  the  sly,  and  cums  to  maturity  quicker  than 
enny  other  ov  the  domestik  animiles,  A  muskeeter  at  3 
hours  old  iz  just  az  reddy  and  anxious  to  go  into  bizz- 
ness  for  himself,  az  ever  he  iz,  and  bites  the  fust  time  az 
sharp,  and  natral,  as  red  pepper  duz.  The  muskeeter  haz 
a  good  ear  for  musik,  and  sings  without  notes.  The  song 
pv  the  muskeeto  iz  monotonous  to  sum  folks,  but  in  me  it 
stirs  up  the  memorys  ov  other  days.  I  hav  lade  awake, 
all  nite  long,  menny  a  time  and  listened  to  the  sweet 
anthems  ov  the  muskeeter.  I  am  satisfied  that  thare  want 
nothing  made  in  vain,  but  i  kant  help  thinking  how 
mighty  kluss  the  musketoze  kum  to  it.  The  muskeeter 
haz  inhabited  this  world  since  its  kreashun,  and  will  prob- 
ably hang  around  here  until  bizzness  closes.  Whare  the 
muskeeter  goes  to  in  the  winter  iz  a  standing  konumdrum, 
which  all  the  naturalists  hav  giv  up,  but  we  kno  he  dont 
go  far,  for  he  iz  on  hand  early  each  year  with  hiz  probe 
fresh  ground,  and  polished.  Muskeeters  must  be  one  ov 
the  luxurys  ov  life,  they  certainly  aint  one  ov  the  neces- 
sarys,  not  if  we  kno  ourselfs.- 


fi8i 


THE  TURNINGS  OF  A  BOOKWORM 

BY   CAROLYN    WELLS 

Love  levels  all  plots; 
Dead  men  sell  no  tales. 
A  new  boom  sweeps  clean. 
Circumstances  alter  bookcases. 
The  more  haste  the  less  read. 
Too  many  books  spoil  the  trade. 
Many  hands  make  light  literature. 
Epigrams  cover  a  multitude  of  sins. 
Ye  can  not  serve  Art  and  Mammon. 
A  little  sequel  is  a  dangerous  thing. 
It's  a  long  page  that  has  no  turning. 
Don't  look  a  gift-book  in  the  binding. 
A  gilt-edged  volume  needs  no  accuser. 
In  a  multitude  of  characters  there  is  safety. 
Incidents  will  happen  even  in  the  best  regulated  novels. 
One  touch  of  Nature  makes  the  whole  book  sell. 
Where  there's  a  will  there's  a  detective  story. 
A  book  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  library. 
An  ounce  of  invention  is  worth  a  pound  of  style. 
A  good  name  is  rather  to  be  chosen  than  great  charac- 
ters. 

Where  there's  so  much  puff,  there  must  be  some  buyer. 


182 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  MONKEYS 

BY   JOHN    PHILIP   SOUSA 

In  days  of  old, 

So  I've  been  told, 

The  monkeys  gave  a  feast. 

They  sent  out  cards, 

"With  kind  regards. 

To  every  bird  and  beast. 

The  guests  came  dressed, 

In  fashion's  best, 

Unmindful  of  expense; 

Except  the  whale, 

AVhose  swallowtail, 

,Was  "soaked"  for  fifty  cents. 

The  guests  checked  wraps, 

Canes,  hats  and  caps ; 

And  when  that  task  was  done, 

The  footman  he 

."With  dignitee, 

Announced  them  one  by  one. 

In  Monkey.  Hall, 

The  host  met  all. 

And  hoped  they'd  feel  at  ease, 

"I  scarcely  can," 

Said  the  Black  and  Tan, 

"I'm  busy  hunting  fleas.'* 

183 


THE    FEAST    OF    THE    MONKEYS 

"While  waiting  for 

A  score  or  more 

Of  guests,"  the  hostess  said, 

"We'll  have  the  Poodle 

Sing  Yankee  Doodle, 

A-standing  on  his  head. 

And  when  this  through, 

Good  Parrot,  you, 

Please  show  them  how  you  swear." 

"Oh,  dear ;  don't  cuss," 

Cried  the  Octopus, 

And  he  walked  off  on  his  ear. 

The  Orang-Outang 

A  sea-song  sang. 

About  a  Chimpanzee 

Who  went  abroad, 

In  a  drinking  gourd, 

To  the  coast  of  Barberee. 

Where  he  heard  one  night. 

When  the  moon  shone  bright, 

A  school  of  mermaids  pick 

Chromatic  scales 

From  off  their  tails. 

And  did  it  mighty  slick. 

"All  guests  are  here, 

To  eat  the  cheer. 

And  dinner's  served,  my  Lord." 

The  butler  bowed ; 

And  then  the  crowd 

Rushed  in  with  one  accord. 

The  fiddler-crab 

Came  in  a  cab, 

184 


JOHN    PHILIP    SOUSA 

!And  played  a  piece  in  C; 

iWhile  on  his  horn, 

The  Unicorn 

Blew,  You'll  Remember  Me. 

"To  give  a  touch 

Of  early  Dutch 

To  this  great  feast  of  feasts, 

I'll  drink  ten  drops 

Of  Holland's  schnapps," 

Spoke  out  the  King  of  Beasts. 

*'That  must  taste  fine," 

Said  the  Porcupine, 

"Did  you  see  him  smack  his  lip  ?" 

"I'd  smack  mine,  too," 

Cried  the  Kangaroo, 

"If  I  didn't  have  the  pip." 

The  Lion  stood, 

And  said :    "Be  good 

Enough  to  look  this  way ; 

Court  Etiquette 

Do  not  forget. 

And  mark  well  what  I  say : 

My  royal  wish 

Is  ev'ry  dish 

Be  tasted  first  by  me." 

"Here's  where  I  smile," 

Said  the  Crocodile, 

And  he  climbed  an  axle-tree. 

The  soup  was  brought, 
And  quick  as  thought. 
The  Lion  ate  it  all. 
185 


THE   FEAST    OF   THE   MONKEYS 

"You  can't  beat  that/' 

Exclaimed  the  Cat, 

"For  monumental  gall." 

"The  soup,"  all  cried. 

"Gone,"  Leo  replied, 

"  'Twas  just  a  bit  too  thick." 

"When  we  get  through," 

Remarked  the  Gnu, 

"I'll  hit  him  with  a  brick." 

iThe  Tiger  stepped. 

Or,  rather,  crept. 

Up  where  the  Lion  sat* 

"O,  mighty  boss 

I'm  at  a  loss 

To  know  where  I  am  at. 

I  came  to-night 

"With  appetite 

To  drink  and  also  eat ; 

As  a  Tiger  grand, 

I  now  demand, 

I  get  there  with  both  feet." 

The  Lion  got 
All-fired  hot 
And  in  a  passion  flew. 
"Get  out,"  he  cried, 
"And  save  your  hide. 
You  most  offensive  You/* 
"I'm  not  afraid," 
The  Tiger  said, 
"I  know  what  I'm  about." 
But  the  Lion's  paw 
Reached  the  Tiger's  jaw, 
And  he  was  good  and  out. 
i86 


JOHN    PHILIP    SOUSA 

The  salt-sea  smell 

Of  Mackerel, 

Upon  the  air  arose ; 

Each  hungry  guest 

Great  joy  expressed, 

And  "sniff !"  went  every  nose. 

,With  glutton  look 

The  Lion  took 

The  spiced  and  sav'ry  dish. 

Without  a  pause 

He  worked  his  jaws. 

And  gobbled  all  the  fish. 

Then  ate  the  roast. 

The  quail  on  toast. 

The  pork,  both  fat  and  lean ; 

The  jam  and  lamb. 

The  potted  ham, 

And  drank  the  kerosene. 

He  raised  his  voice : 

"Come,  all  rejoice. 

You've  seen  your  monarch  dine." 

"Never  again," 

Clucked  the  Hen, 

And  all  sang  Old  Lang  Syne. 


187 


THE  BILLVILLE  SPIRIT  MEETING 

BY  FRANK  L.  STANTON 

We  had  a  sperrit  meetin'  (we'll  never  have  no  more!) 
To  call  up  all  the  sperrits  of  them  that's  "gone  before." 
A  feller  called  a  "medium"  (he  wuz  of  medium  size), 
Took  the  contract  fer  the  fetchin'  o'  them  sperrits  from  the 
skies. 

The  mayor — the  town  council — the  parson  an'  his  wife, 
Come  to  shake  han's  with  them  sperrits  what  had  left  the 

other  life; 
The  Colonel  an'  the  Major — the  coroner,  an'  all 
Wuz  waitin'  an'  debatin'  in  the  darkness  o'  the  hall. 

The  medium  roared,  "Silence!  Amanda  Jones  appears! 
Is  her  husband  present?"    ("No,  sir — he's  been  restin' 

twenty  years!") 
"Here's  the  ghost  of  Sally  Spilkins,  from  the  Ian'  whar* 

glories  glow :  ; 

Would  her  husband  like  to  see  her?"    (An'  a  feeble  voice 

said, 'Wo/") 

"Here's  the  wife  of  Colonel  Buster;  she  wears  a  heavenly 

smile : 
She  wants  to  see  the  Colonel,  an'  she's  comin'  down  the 

aisle!" 
Then  all  wuz  wild  confusion — it  warn't  a  bit  o'  fun ! — 
With  "Lord,  have  mercy  on  me,"  the  Colonel  broke  an' 

run! 

i88 


FRANK  L.  STANTON 

Then  the  coroner  got  skeery  an'  scampered  fer  his  life! 

"Stop — stop  him !"  said  the  medium ;  "here  comes  his  sec- 
ond wife !" 

But  thar'  warn't  a  man  could  stop  him  in  that  whole 
blame  settlement, — 

He  turned  a  double  summersault  an'  out  the  winder 
went! 

Then,  the  whole  town  council  follered  an'  hollered  all  the 

way; 
The  parson  said  he  had  a  call  'bout  ten  miles  off,  to  pray ! 
He  didn't  preach  nex'  Sunday,  an'  they  tell  it  roun'  a  bit, 
Accordin'  to  the  best  reports  the  parson's  runnin'  yit ! 


189 


A  CRY  FROM  THE  CONSUMER 

BY    WILBUR   D.    NESBIT 

Grasshoppers  roam  the  Kansas  fields  and  eat  the  tender 

grass — 
A  trivial  affair,  indeed,  but  what  then  comes  to  pass  ? 
You  go  to  buy  a  panama,  or  any  other  hat ; 
You  learn  the  price  has  been  advanced  a  lot  because  of 

that. 
A  glacier  up  in  Canada  has  slipped  a  mile  or  two — 
A  little  thing  like  this  can  boost  the  selling  price  of  glue. 
Occurrences  so  tragic  always  thrill  me  to  the  core ; 
I  hope  and  pray  that  nothing  ever  happens  any  more. 

Last  week  the  peaceful  Indians  went  a-searching  after 

scalps, 
And  then  there  was  an  avalanche  'way  over  in  the  Alps ; 
These   diametric   happenings   seem   nothing   much,   but 

look — 
We  had  to  add  a  dollar  to  the  wages  of  the  cook. 
The  bean-crop  down,  at  Boston  has  grown  measurably 

less, 
And  so  the  dealer  charges  more  for  goods  to  make  a 

dress. 
Each  day  there  is  some  incident  to  make  a  man  feel  sore, 
I'm  on  my  knees  to  ask  that  nothing  happens  any  more. 

It  didn't  rain  in  Utah  and  it  did  in  old  Vermont — 
Result :  it  costs  you  fifty  more  to  take  a  summer's  jaunt ; 
Upon  the  plains  of  Tibet  some  tornadoes  took  a  roll — 
Therefore  the  barons  have  to  charge  a  higher  price  for 
coal. 

190 


WILBUR    D.    NESBIT 

A  street-car  strike  In  Omaha  has  cumulative  shocks — 
It  boosted  huckleberries  up  to  twenty  cents  a  box. 
No  matter  what  is  happening  it  always  finds  your  door — 
Give  us  a  rest !  Let  nothing  ever  happen  any  more. 

Mosquitoes  in  New  Jersey  bite  a  magnate  on  the  wing — 

Result:  the  poor  consumer  feels  that  fierce  mosquito's 
sting : 

The  skeeter's  song  is  silenced,  but  in  something  like  an 
hour 

The  grocers  understand  that  it  requires  a  raise  In  flour. 

A  house  burns  down  in  Texas  and  a  stove  blows  up  in 
Maine, 

Ten  minutes  later  breakfast  foods  In  prices  show  a  gain. 

Effects  must  follow  causes — which  is  what  I  most  de- 
plore ; 

I  hppe  and  pray  that  nothing  ever  happens  any  more^ 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT 

BY   JOHN   BOYLE   o'rEILLY 

Her  hair  was  a  waving  bronze,  and  her  eyes 
Deep  wells  that  might  cover  a  brooding  soul ; 

And  who,  till  he  weighed  it,  could  ever  surmise 
That  her  heart  was  a  cinder  Instead  of  a  coal  I 


191: 


THE  BRITISH  MATRON 

BY    NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE 

I  have  heard  a  good  deal  of  the  tenacity  with  which 
Enghsh  ladies  retain  their  personal  beauty  to  a  late  period 
of  life;  but  (not  to  suggest  that  an  American  eye  needs 
use  and  cultivation,  before  it  can  quite  appreciate  the 
charm  of  English  beauty  at  any  age)  it  strikes  me  that 
an  English  lady  of  fifty  is  apt  to  become  a  creature  less 
refined  and  delicate,  so  far  as  her  physique  goes,  than  any- 
thing that  we  Western  people  class  under  the  name  of 
woman.  She  has  an  awful  ponderosity  of  frame,  not 
pulpy,  like  the  looser  development  of  our  few  fat  women, 
but  massive  with  solid  beef  and  streaky  tallow;  so  that 
(though  struggling  manfully  against  the  idea)  you  in- 
evitably think  of  her  as  made  up  of  steaks  and  sirloins. 
When  she  walks,  her  advance  is  elephantine.  When 
she  sits  down  it  is  on  a  great  round  space  of  her  Maker's 
footstool,  where  she  looks  as  if  nothing  could  ever 
move  her.  She  imposes  awe  and  respect  by  the  muchness 
of  her  personality,  to  such  a  degree  that  you^  probably 
credit  her  with  far  greater  moral  and  intellectual .  force 
than  she  can  fairly  claim.  Her  visage  is  usually  "grim 
and  stem,  seldom  positively  forbidding,  yet  calmly  ter- 
rible, not  merely  by  its  breadth  and  weight  of  feature, 
but  because  it  seems  to  express  so  much  well-defined  self- 
reliance,  such  acquaintance  with  the  world,  its  toils, 
troubles,  and  dangers,  and  such  sturdy  capacity  for  tram- 
pling down  a  foe.     Without  anything  positively  salient, 

192 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE 

or  actively  offensive,  or,  indeed,  unjustly  formidable  to 
her  neighbors,  she  has  the  effect  of  a  seventy-four-gun 
ship  in  time  of  peace;  for,  while  you  assure  yourself  that 
there  is  no  real  danger,  you  can  not  help  thinking  how 
tremendous  would  be  her  onset,  if  pugnaciously  inclined, 
and  how  futile  the  effort  to  inflict  any  counter-in juiy. 
She  certainly  looks  tenfold — nay,  a  hundredfold — better 
able  to  take  care  of  herself  than  our  slender-framed  and 
haggard  womankind ;  but  I  have  not  found  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  the  English  dowager  of  fifty  has  actually  greater 
courage,  fortitude,  and  strength  of  character  than  our 
women  of  similar  age,  or  even  a  tougher  physical  en- 
durance than  they.  Morally,  she  is  strong,  I  suspect, 
only  in  society,  and  in  the  common  routine  of  social  af- 
fairs, and  would  be  found  powerless  and  timid  in  any  ex- 
ceptional strait  that  might  call  for  energy  outside  of  the 
conventionalities  amid  which  she  has  grown  up. 

You  can  meet  this  figure  in  the  street,  and  live,  and 
even  smile  at  the  recollection.  But  conceive  of  her  in  a 
ball-room,  with  the  bare,  brawny  arms  that  she  invariably 
displays  there,  and  all  the  other  corresponding  develop- 
ment, such  as  is  beautiful  in  the  maiden  blossom,  but  a 
spectacle  to  howl  at  in  such  an  over-blown  cabbage-rose 
as  this. 

Yet,  somewhere  in  this  enormous  bulk  there  must  be 
hidden  the  modest,  slender,  violet-nature  of  a  girl,  whom 
an  alien  mass  of  earthliness  has  unkindly  overgrown ;  for 
an  English  maiden  in  her  teens,  though  very  seldom  so 
pretty  as  our  own  damsels,  possesses,  to  say  the  truth,  a 
certain  charm  of  half-blossom,  and  delicately  folded 
leaves,  and  tender  womanhood,  shielded  by  maidenly  re- 
serves, with  which,  somehow  or  other,  our  American 
girls  often  fail  to  adorn  themselves  during  an,  appreciable 
moment.    It  is  a  pity  that  the  English  violet  should  grow 

193 


THE    BRITISH    MATRON 

into  such  an  outrageously  developed  peony  as  I  have  at- 
tempted to  describe.  I  wonder  whether  a  middle-aged 
husband  ought  to  be  considered  as  legally  married  to  all 
the  accretions  that  have  overgrown  the  slenderness  of  his 
bride,  since  he  led  her  to  the  altar,  and  which  make  her 
so  much  more  than  he  ever  bargained  for!  Is  it  not  a 
sounder  view  of  the  case,  that  the  matrimonial  bond  can 
not  be  held  to  include  the  three-fourths  of  the  wife  that 
had  no  existence  when  the  ceremony  was  performed? 
And  as  a  matter  of  conscience  and  good  morals,  ought 
not  an  English  married  pair  to  insist  upon  the  celebration 
of  a  silver  wedding  at  the  end  of  twenty-five  years  in 
order  to  legalize  and  mutually  appropriate  that  corporeal 
growth  of  which  both  parties  have  individually  come  into 
possession  since  they  were  pronounced  one  flesh  ? 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  IT 

BY    ALDEN    CHARLES    NOBLE 

Alas  for  him,  alas  for  it, 

Alas  for  you  and  I ! 
When  this  I  think  I  raise  my  mitt 

To  dry  my  weeping  eye. 


194 


STAGE  WHISPERS 

BY   CAROLYN    WELLS 

Deadheads  tell  no  tales. 
Stars  are  stubborn  things. 
All's  not  bold  that  titters. 
Contracts  make  cowards  of  us  all. 
One  good  turn  deserves  an  encore. 
A  little  actress  is  a  dangerous  thing. 
It's  a  long  skirt  that  has  no  turning. 
Stars  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread. 
Managers  never  hear  any  good  of  themselves. 
A  manager  is  known  by  the  company  he  keeps. 
A  plot  is  not  without  honor  save  in  comic  opera. 
Take  care  of  the  dance  and  the  songs  will  take  care  of 
themselves. 


195 


THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE 

BY  JAMES  T,    FIELDS 

My  name  is  Esek  Pettibone,  and  I  wish  to  affirm  in 
the  outset  that  it  is  a  good  thing  to  be  well-born.  In  thus 
connecting  the  mention  of  my  name  with  a  positive  state- 
ment, I  am  not  aware  that  a  catastrophe  lies  coiled  up  in 
the  juxtaposition.  But  I  can  not  help  writing  plainly  that 
I  am  still  in  favor  of  a  distinguished  family-tree.  Esto 
perpetua!  To  have  had  somebody  for  a  great-grand- 
father that  was  somebody  is  exciting.  To  be  able  to 
look  back  on  long  lines  of  ancestry  that  were  rich,  but 
respectable,  seems  decorous  and  all  right.  The  present 
Earl  of  Warwick,  I  think,  must  have  an  idea  that  strict 
justice  has  been  done  liiui  in  the  way  of  being  launched 
properly  into  the  world.  I  saw  the  Duke  of  Newcastle 
once,  and  as  the  farmer  in  Conway  described  Mount 
Washington,  I  thought  the  Duke  felt  a  propensity  to 
"hunch  up  some."  Somehow  it  is  pleasant  to  dook  down 
on  the  crowd  and  have  a  conscious  right  to  do  so. 

Left  an  orphan  at  the  tender  age  of  four  years,  having 
no  brothers  or  sisters  to  prop  me  round  with  young  affec- 
tions and  sympathies,  I  fell  into  three  pairs  of  hands,  ex- 
cellent in  their  way,  but  peculiar.  Patience,  Eunice,  and 
Mary  Ann  Pettibone  were  my  aunts  on  my  father's  side. 
All  my  mother's  relations  kept  shady  when  the  lonely 
orphan  looked  about  for  protection;  but  Patience  Petti- 
bone, in  her  stately  way,  said, — "The  boy  belongs  to  a 
good  family,  and  he  shall  never  want  while  his  three 

196 


JAMES  T.  FIELDS 

aunts  can  support  him."  So  I  went  to  live  with  my 
plain,  but  benignant  protectors,  in  the  state  of  New 
Hampshire. 

During  my  boyhood  the  best-drilled  lesson  that  fell  to 
my  keeping  was  this :  "Respect  yourself.  We  come  of 
more  than  ordinary  parentage.  Superior  blood  was  prob- 
ably concerned  in  getting  up  the  Pettibones.  Hold  your 
head  erect,  and  some  day  you  shall  have  proof  of  your 
high  lineage." 

I  remember  once,  on  being  told  that  I  must  not  share 
my  juvenile  sports  with  the  butcher's  three  little  beings, 
I  begged  to  know  why  not.  Aunt  Eunice  looked  at  Pa- 
tience, and  Mary  Ann  knew  what  she  meant. 

"My  child,"  slowly  murmured  the  eldest  sister,  "our 
family,  no  doubt,  came  of  a  very  old  stock;  perhaps  we 
belong  to  the  nobility.  Our  ancestors,  it  is  thought,  came 
over  laden  with  honors,  and  no  doubt  were  embarrassed 
with  riches,  though  the  latter  importation  has  dwindled 
in  the  lapse  of  years.  Respect  yourself,  and  when  you 
grow  up  you  will  not  regret  that  your  old  and  careful 
aunt  did  not  wish  you  to  play  with  the  butcher's  off- 
spring." 

I  felt  mortified  that  I  ever  had  a  desire  to  "knuckle 
up"  with  any  but  kings'  sons,  or  sultans'  little  boys.  I 
longed  to  be  among  my  equals  in  the  urchin  line,  and  fly 
my  kite  with  only  high-born  youngsters. 

Thus  I  lived  in  a  constant  scene  of  self-enchantment 
on  the  part  of  the  sisters,  who  assumed  all  the  port  and 
feeling  that  properly  belonged  to  ladies  of  quality.  Patri- 
monial splendor  to  come  danced  before  their  dim  eyes; 
and  handsome  settlements,  gay  equipages,  and  a  general 
grandeur  of  some  sort  loomed  up  in  the  future  for  the 
American  branch  of  the  House  of  Pettibone. 

It  was  a  life  of  opulent  self-delusion,  which  my  aunts 

197 


THE    PETTIBONE   LINEAGE 

were  never  tired  of  nursing;  and  I  was  too  young  to 
doubt  the  reality  o£  it.  All  the  members  of  our  little 
household  held  up  their  heads,  as  if  each  said,  in  so  many 
words,  "There  is  no  original  sin  in  our  composition, 
whatever  of  that  commodity  there  may  be  mixed  up  with 
the  common  clay  of  Snowborough." 

Aunt  Patience  was  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart.  Aunt 
Eunice  looked  at  her  through  a  determined  pair  of  specta- 
cles, and  worshiped  while  she  gazed.  The  youngest 
sister  lived  in  a  dreamy  state  of  honors  to  come,  and  had 
constant  zoological  visions  of  lions,  griffins,  and  tmicorns, 
drawn  and  quartered  in  every  possible  style  known  to  the 
Heralds'  College.  The  Reverend  Hebrew  Bullet,  who 
used  to  drop  in  quite  often  and  drink  several  compulsory 
glasses  of  home-made  wine,  encouraged  his  three  par- 
ishoners  in  their  aristocratic  notions,  and  extolled  them 
for  what  he  called  their  "stooping-down  to  every-day 
life."  He  differed  with  the  ladies  of  our  house  only  on 
one  point.  He  contended  that  the  unicorn  of  the  Bible 
and  the  rhinoceros  of  to-day  were  one  and  the  same  ani- 
mal.  My  aunts  held  a  different  opinion. 

In  the  sleeping-room  of  my  Aunt  Patience  reposed  a 
trunk..  Often  during  my  childish  years  I  longed  to  lift 
the  lid  and  spy  among  its  contents  the  treasures  my  young 
fancy  conjured  up  as  lying  there  in  state.  I  dared  not 
ask  to  have  the  cover  raised  for  my  gratification,  as  I 
had  often  been  told  I  was  "too  little"  to  estimate  aright 
what  that  armorial  box  contained.  "When  you  grow  up, 
you  shall  see  the  inside  of  it,"  Aunt  Mary  used  to  say  to 
me;  and  so  I  wondered,  and  wished,  but  all  in  vain.  I 
must  have  the  virtue  of  years  before  I  could  view  the 
treasures  of  past  magnificence  so  long  entombed  in  that 
wooden  sarcophagus.  Once  I  saw  the  faded  sisters  bend- 
ing over  the  trunk  together,  and,  as  I  thought,  embalm- 

198 


JAMES  T.  FIELDS 

ing  something  in  camphor.  Curiosity  impelled  me  to 
linger,  but,  under  some  pretext,  I  was  nodded  out  of  the 
room. 

Although  my  kinswomen's  means  were  far  from  ample, 
they  determined  that  Swiftmouth  College  should  have 
the  distinction  of  calling  me  one  of  her  sons,  and  accord- 
ingly I  was  in  due  time  sent  for  preparation  to  a  neigh- 
boring academy.  Years  of  study  and  hard  fare  in  coun- 
try boarding-houses  told  upon  my  self-importance  as  the 
descendant  of  a  great  Englishman,  notwithstanding  all 
my  letters  from  the  honored  three  came  with  counsel  to 
"respect  myself  and  keep  up  the  dignity  of  the  family." 
Growing-up  man  forgets  good  counsel.  The  Arcadia  of 
respectability  is  apt  to  give  place  to  the  levity  of  foot- 
ball and  other  low-toned  accomplishments.  The  book 
of  life,  at  that  period,  opens  readily  at  fun  and  frolic, 
and  the  insignia  of  greatness  give  the  school-boy  no  en- 
vious pangs. 

I  was  nineteen  when  I  entered  the  hoary  halls  of  Swift- 
mouth.  I  call  them  hoary,  because  they  had  been  built 
more  than  fifty  vears.  To  me  they  seemed  uncommonly 
hoary,  and  I  snuffed  antiquity  in  the  dusty  purlieus.  I 
now  began  to  study,  in  good  earnest,  the  wisdom  of  the 
past.  I  saw  clearly  the  value  of  dead  men  and  mouldy 
precepts,  especially  if  the  former  had  been  entombed  a 
thousand  years,  and  if  the  latter  were  well  done  in  sound- 
ing Greek  and  Latin.  I  began  to  reverence  royal  lines 
of  deceased  monarchs,  and  longed  to  connect  my  own 
name,  now  growing  into  college  popularity,  with  some 
far-off  mighty  one  who  had  ruled  in  pomp  and  luxury 
his  obsequious  people.  The  trunk  in  Snowborough  trou- 
bled my  dreams.  In  that  receptacle  still  slept  the  proof 
of  our  family  distinction.  "I  will  go,"  quoth  I,  "to  the 
home  of  my  aunts  next  vacation  and  there  learn  how  we 

199 


THE    PETTIBONE    LINEAGE 

became  mighty,  and  discover  precisely  why  we  don't 
practice  to-day  our  inherited  claims  to  glory." 

I  went  to  Snowborough.  Aunt  Patience  was  now  anx- 
ious to  lay  before  her  impatient  nephew  the  proof  he 
burned  to  behold.  But  first  she  must  explain.  All  the 
old  family  documents  and  letters  were,  no  doubt,  de- 
stroyed in  the  great  fire  of  '98,  as  nothing  in  the  shape 
of  parchment  or  paper  implying  nobility  had  ever  been 
discovered  in  Snowborough,  or  elsewhere.  But  there  had 
been  preserved,  for  many  years,  a  suit  of  imperial  clothes 
that  had  been  worn  by  their  great-grandfather  in  Eng- 
land, and,  no  doubt,  in  the  New  World  also.  These  gar- 
ments had  been  carefully  watched  and  guarded,  for  were 
they  not  the  proof  that  their  owner  belonged  to  a  station 
in  life  second,  if  second  at  all,  to  the  royal  court  of  King 
George  itself?  Precious  casket,  into  which  I  was  soon  to 
have  the  privilege  of  gazing !  Through  how  many  long 
years  these  fond,  foolish  virgins  had  lighted  their  un- 
flickering  lamps  of  expectation  and  hope  at  this  cherished 
old  shrine ! 

I  was  now  on  my  way  to  the  family  repository  of  all 
our  greatness.  I  went  up  stairs  "on  the  jump."  We  all 
knelt  down  before  the  well-preserved  box;  and  my  proud 
Aunt  Patience,  in  a  somewhat  reverent  manner,  turned 
the  key.  My  heart, — I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess  it  now, 
although  it  is  forty  years  since  the  quartet,  in  search  of 
family  honors,  were  on  their  knees  that  summer  afternoon 
in  Snowborough, — my  heart  beat  high.  I  was  about  to 
look  on  that  which  might  be  a  duke's  or  an  earl's  regalia. 
And  I  was  descended  from  the  owner  in  a  direct  line! 
I  had  lately  been  reading  Shakespeare's  Titus  Androni- 
cus;  and  I  remembered,  there  before  the  trunk,  the  lines : 

"O  sacred  receptacle  of  my  joys, 
Sweet  cell  of  virtue  and  nobility !" 

200 


JAMES  T.  FIELDS 

The  lid  went  up,  and  the  sisters  began  to  unroll  the  pre- 
cious garments,  which  seemed  all  enshrined  in  aromatic 
gums  and  spices.  The  odor  of  that  interior  lives  with  me 
to  this  day;  and  I  grow  faint  with  the  memory  of  that 
hour.  With  pious  precision  the  clothes  were  uncovered, 
and  at  last  the  whole  suit  was  laid  before  my  expectant 
eyes. 

Reader!  I  am  an  old  man  now,  and  have  not  long  to 
walk  this  planet.  But  whatever  dreadful  shock  may  be  in 
reserve  for  my  declining  years,  I  am  certain  I  can  bear  it ; 
for  I  went  through  that  scene  at  Snowborough,  and  still 
live! 

When  the  garments  were  fully  displayed,  all  the  aunts 
looked  at  me.  I  had  been  to  college;  I  had  studied 
Burke's  Peerage;  I  had  been  once  to  New  York.  Per- 
haps I  could  immediately  name  the  exact  station  in  noble 
British  life  to  which  that  suit  of  clothes  belonged.  I 
could ;  I  saw  it  all  at  a  glance.  I  grew  flustered  and  pale. 
I  dared  not  look  my  poor  deluded  female  relatives  in  the 
face. 

"What  rank  in  the  peerage  do  these  gold-laced  gar- 
ments and  big  buttons  betoken  ?"  cried  all  three. 

"It  is  a  suit  of  servant's  livery!"  gasped  I,  and  fell 
back  with  a  shudder. 

That  evening,  after  the  sun  had  gone  down,  we  buried 
those  hateful  garments  in  a  ditch  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden.  Rest  there  perturbed  body-coat,  yellow  trousers, 
brown  gaiters,  and  all ! 

"Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye !" 


201 


WHY  MOLES  HAVE  HANDS 

BY   ANNE   VIRGINIA    CULBERTSON 

One  'day  the  children  came  running  to  Aunt  Nancy 
with  a  mole  which  one  of  the  dogs  had  just  killed.  They 
had  never  seen  one  before  and  were  very  curious  as  to 
what  it  might  be. 

"Well,  befo'  de  king!"  said  Nancy,  "whar  y'all  bin 
livin'  dat  you  nuver  seed  a  mole  befo'  ?  Whar  you  come 
fum  mus'  be  a  mighty  cur'ous  spot  ef  dey  ain'  have 
no  moleses  dar;  mus'  be  sump'n  wrong  wid  dat  place. 
I  bin  mos'  all  over  dish  yer  Sussex  kyounty  endurin'  er 
my  time,  an'  I  ain'  nuver  come  'cross  no  place  yit  whar 
dey  ain'  have  moleses. 

"Moleses  is  sut'n'y  cur'ous  li'l  creeturs,"  she  contin- 
ued. "I  bin  teckin'  tickler  notuss  un  'em  dis  long  time, 
an'  dey  knows  mo'n  you'd  think  fer,  jes'  ter  look  at  'em. 
Dough  dey  lives  down  un'need  de  groun',  yit  dey  is  fus'- 
class  swimmers;  I  done  seed  one,  wid  my  own  eyes, 
crossin'  de  branch,  an'  dey  kin  root  'long  un'need  de 
yearf  mos'  ez  fas'  ez  a  boss  kin  trot  on  top  uv  hit.  Y'all 
neenter  look  dat-a-way,  'kase  hit's  de  trufe;  dey's  jes' 
built  fer  gittin'  'long  fas'  unner  groun'.  Der  ban's  is 
bofe  pickaxes  an'  shovels  fer  'em;  dey  digs  an'  scoops 
wid  der  front  ones  an'  kicks  de  dirt  out  de  way  wid  der 
behime  ones.  Der  strong  snouts  he'ps  'em,  too,  ter  push 
der  way  thu  de  dirt." 

"Their  fur  is  just  as  soft  and  shiny  as  silk,'*  said 
Janey. 

"Yas,"  said  Aunt  Nancy,  "hit's  dat  sof  an'  shiny  dat, 

202 


[ANNE   VIRGINIA    CULBERTSON 

dough  dey  live  all  time  in  de  dirt,  not  a  speck  er  dirt 
sticks  to  'em.  You  ses  'sof  an'  shiny  ez  silk,'  but  I  tell 
you  hit  is  silk ;  silk  clo'es,  dat  'zackly  w'at  'tis." 

Ned  laughed.  "Who  ever  heard  of  an  animal  dressed 
in  silk  clothes  ?"  he  said. 

"Nemmine,"  she  answered,  "you  talks  mighty  peart, 
but  I  knows  w'at  I  knows,  an'  dish  yer  I  bin  tellin'  you 
is  de  sho'-'nuff  trufe." 

"Just  see  its  paws,"  Janey  went  on,  "why,  they  look 
exactly  like  hands." 

"Look  lak  han's!  look  lak  ban's !  umph !  dey  is  ban's, 
all  thumbered  an'  fingered  jes  lak  yo'n;  an',  w'at's  mo', 
dey  wuz  onct  human  han's ;  human,  dey  wuz  sp !" 

"How  could  they  ever  have  been  human  hands  and 
then  been  put  on  a  mole's  body?"  asked  Ned.  "I  believe 
most  things  you  say.  Aunt  Nancy,  but  I  can't  swallow 
that." 

"Bar's  a  li'l  boy  roun'  dese  diggin's  whar  talkin' 
mighty  sassy  an'  rambunkshus,  seem  ter  me.  I  ain'  ax 
you  ter  swoller  nuttin'  't  all,  but  'pears  ter  me  y'all  bin 
swollerin'  dem  'ar  ol'  tales  right  an'  lef,  faster'n'  I  kin 
call  'em  ter  min',  an'  I  ain'  seed  none  er  you  choke  pn 
'em  yit,  ner  cry,  'nuff  said.  I'se  'tickler  saw'y  'bout  dis, 
'kase  I  done  had  hit  in  min'  ter  tell  you  a  tale  'bout 
huccome  moleses  have  han'ses,  whar  I  larn  f'um  a 
ooman  dat  come  f'um  Fauquier  kyounty,  but  now  dat 
Mars'  Ned  'pear  ter  be  so  jubous  'bout  hit,  I  ain'  gwine 
was'e  my  time  on  folks  whar  ain'  gwine  b'lieve  me,  no- 
hows.  Nemmine,  de  chillen  over  on  de  Thompson  place 
gwine  baig  me  fer  dat  tale  w'en  I  goes  dar  ag'in,  an', 
w'at's  mo',  dey  gwine  git  hit ;  fer  dey  b'lieves  ev'y  wu'd 
dat  draps  f'um  my  mouf,  lak  'twuz  de  law  an'  de  gospil." 

Of  course,  the  children  protested  that  they  were  as 
ready  to  hang  upon  her  words  as  the  Thompson  children 

203 


WHY    MOLES    HAVE    HANDS 

could  possibly  be,  and  presented  their  prior  claim  to  the 
tale  in  such  moving  fashion  that  Aunt  Nancy  was  finally 
prevailed  upon  to  come  down  from  her  high  horse  and 
tell  the  story. 

"I  done  tol'  you,"  she  said,  "dat  dem  'ar  ban's  is 
human,  an'  I  mean  jes'  w'at  I  ses,  'kase  de  m.oleses  useter 
be  folks,  sho'-'nuff  folks,  dough  dey  is  all  swunk  up  ter 
dis  size  an'  der  ban's  is  all  dat's  lef  ter  tell  de  tale. 
Yas,  sub,  in  de  ol'  days,  so  fur  back  dat  you  kain't 
kyount  hit,  de  moleses  wuz  folks,  an'  mighty  proud  an' 
biggitty  folks  at  dat.  Dey  wan't  gwine  be  ketched  wear- 
in'  any  er  dish  yer  kaliker,  er  linsey-woolsey,  er  home- 
spun er  sech  ez  dat,  ner  even  broadclawf,  ner  bombazine, 
naw  sub!  Dey  jes'  tricked  derse'fs  out  in  de  fines'  an' 
shinies'  er  silk,  nuttin'  mo'  ner  less,  an'  den  dey  went 
a-traipsin'  up  an'  down  an'  hether  an'  yon,  fer  tu'rr  folks 
ter  look  at  an'  mek  'miration  over.  Mo'n  dat,  dey  'uz 
so  fine  an'  fiddlin'  dey  oon  set  foot  ter  de  groun'  lessen 
dar  wuz  a  kyarpet  spread  down  fer  'em  ter  walk  on.  Dey 
tells  me  hit  sut'n'y  wuz  a  sight  in  de  worl'  ter  see  dem 
'ar  folks  walkin'  up  an'  down  on  de  kyarpets,  trailin' 
an'  rus'lin'  der  silk  clo'es,  an'  curchyin'  an'  bobbin'  ter 
one  nu'rr  w'en  dey  met  up,  but  nuver  speakin'  ter  de 
common  folks  whar  walkin'  on  de  groun',  ner  even  so 
much  ez  lookin'  at  'em.  Wats  mo',  dey  wuz  so  uppish 
dey  thought  de  yearf  wuz  too  low  down  fer  'em  even  ter 
run  der  eyes  over,  so  dey  went  'long  wid  der  haids 
r'ared  an'  der  eyes  all  time  lookin'  up,  stidder  down. 
You  kin  be  sho'  dem  gwines-on  ain'  mek  'em  pop'lous 
wid  tu'rr  folks,  'kase  people  jes'  natchelly  kain't  stan'  hit 
ter  have  you  th'owin'  up  to  'em  dat  you  is  better'n  w'at 
dey  is,  w'en  all  de  time  dey  knows  you're  nuttin'  but 
folks,  same  'z  dem. 

"Dey  kep'  gwine  on  so-fashion,  an'  gittin'  mo'  an'  mo' 

204 


ANNE    VIRGINIA    CULBERTSON 

pompered  an'  uppish,  'twel  las'  dey  'tracted  de  'tention 
er  de  Lawd,  an'  He  say  ter  Hisse'f,  He  do,  'Who  is  dese 
yer  folks,  anyhows,  whar  gittin'  so  airish,  walkin'  up 
an'  down  an'  back  an'  fo'th  on  my  yearf  an'  spurnin'  hit 
so's't  dey  spread  kyarpets  'twix'  hit  an'  der  footses, 
treatin'  my  yearf,  w'at  I  done  mek,  lak  'twuz  de  dirt 
un'need  der  footses,  an'  'spisin'  der  feller  creeturs  an' 
excusin'  'em  er  bein'  common,  an'  keepin'  der  eyes  turnt 
up  all  de  time,  ez  ef  dey  wuz  too  good  ter  look  at  de 
things  I  done  mek  an'  putt  on  my  yearf?  I  mus'  see 
'bout  dis;  I  mus'  punish  dese  'sumptions  people  an* 
show  'em  dat  one'r  my  creeturs  is  jez'  ez  low  down  ez 
tu'rr,  in  my  sight.' 

"So  de  Lawd  He  pass  jedgment  on  de  moleses.  Fus' 
He  tuck  an'  made  'em  lose  der  human  shape  an'  den  He 
swunk  'em  up  ontwel  dey  'z  no  bigger'n  dey  is  now,  dat 
'uz  ter  show  'em  how  no-kyount  dey  wuz  in  His  sight. 
Den  bekase  dey  thought  derse'fs  too  good  ter  walk  'pun 
de  bare  groun'  He  sont  'em  ter  live  un'need  hit,  whar 
dey  hatter  dig  an'  scratch  der  way  'long.  Las'  uv  all  He 
tuck  an'  tuck  'way  der  eyes  an'  made  'em  blin',  dat's 
'kase  dey  done  'spise  ter  look  at  der  feller  creeturs.  But 
He  feel  kind  er  saw'y  fer  'em  w'en  He  git  dat  fur,  an'  He 
ain'  wanter  punish  'em  too  haivy,  so  He  lef  'em  dese  silk 
clo'es  whar  I  done  tol'  you  'bout,  an'  dese  ban's  whar 
you  kin  see  fer  yo'se'fs  is  human,  an'  I  reckon  bofe  dem 
things  putt  'em  in  min'  er  w'at  dey  useter  be  an'  mek  'em 
'umble.  Uver  sence  den  de  moleses  bin  gwine  'long 
un'need  de  groun',  'cordin  ter  de  jedgmen'  er  de  Lawd, 
an'  diggin'  an'  scratchin'  der  way  thu  de  worl',  in  trial 
an'  tribilashun,  wid  dem  po'  li'l  human  han'ses.  An' 
dat  orter  I'arn  you  w'at  comes  er  folks  'spisin'  der  fel- 
ler creeturs,  an'  I  want  y'all  ter  'member  dat  nex'  time 
I  year  you  call  dem  Thompson  chillen  'trash.'  " 

205 


.WHY   MOLES   HAVE   HANDS 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  use  moles  are,"  said  Ned,  who 
was  of  rather  an  investigating  turn  of  mind;  "they  just 
go  round  rooting  through  the  ground  spoiling  people's 
gardens,  and  I  don't  see  what  they're  good  for;  you 
can't  eat  them  or  use  them  any  way." 

"Sho',  chil' !"  said  Aunt  Nancy,  *^you  dunno  w'at  you 
talkin'  'bout;  de  Lawd  have  some  use  fer  ev'y  creetur 
He  done  mek.  Dey  tells  me  dat  de  moleses  eats  up  lots 
er  bugs  an'  wu'ms  an'  sech  ez  dat,  dat  mought  hurt  de 
craps  ef  dey  wuz  let  ter  live.  Sidesen  dat,  jes'  gimme 
one'r  de  claws  er  dat  mole,  an'  lemme  hang  hit  roun' 
de  neck  uv  a  baby  whar  cuttin'  his  toofs,  an'  I  boun'  you, 
ev'y  toof  in  his  jaws  gwine  come  bustin'  thu  his  goms 
widout  nair'  a  ache  er  a  pain  ter  let  him  know  dey's  dar. 
Don't  talk  ter  me  'bout  de  moleses  bein'  .wufless !  T 
done  walk  de  flo'  too  much  wid  cryin'  babies;  not  ter 
know  de  use  er  moleses." 

"You  don't  really  believe  that,  do  you?"  asked  Ned.- 

"B'lieve  hit!"  she  answered  indignantly;  "I ;  don' 
h'lieve  hit,  I  knows  hit.  I  done  tol'  you  all  de  things  a 
hyar's  foot  kin  do;  w'ats  de  reason  a  mole's  foot  ain' 
good  fer  sump'n,  too?  Ef  folks  on'y  knowed  mo'  about 
sech  kyores  ez  dat  dar  neenter  be  so  much  sickness  an' 
mis'ry  in  de  worl'-.  I  done  kyored  myse'f  er  de  rheuma- 
tiz  in  my  right  arm  jes'  by  tyin'  a  eel-skin  roun'  hit, 
an'  ev'yb'dy  on  dis  plantation  knows  dat  ef  you'll  wrop 
a  chil's  hya'r  wid  eel-skin  strings  hit's  boun'  ter  mek 
hit  grow.  Ef  you  want  de  chil'  hisse'f  ter  grow  an'  ter 
walk  soon  you  mus'  bresh  his  feet  wid  de  broom.  I 
oon  tell  you  dis  ef  I  hadn't  tried  'em  myse'f.  You 
mus'n'  talk  so  biggitty  'bout  w'at  you  dunno  nuttin' 
't  all  about.  You  come  f'um  up  Norf  yonner,  an'  mebbe 
dese  things  don'  wu'k  de  same  dar  ez  w'at  dey  does  down 
ycr  whar  we  bin  'pendin'  on  'em  so  long.' 

206 


A  PSALM  OF  LIFE 

BY   PHCEBE   GARY 

Tell  me  not,  in  idle  jingle, 
Marriage  is  an  empty  dream, 

For  the  girl  is  dead  that's  single, 
And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

Married  life  is  real,  earnest, 

Single  blessedness  a  fib, 
iTaken  from  man,  to  man  returnest, 

Has  been  spoken  of  the  rib. 

Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 
Is  pur  destined  end  or  way ; 

But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 
Nearer  brings  the  wedding-day. 

Life  is  long,  and  youth  is  fleeting, 
And  our  hearts,  if  there  we  search. 

Still  like  steady  drums  are  beating 
Anxious  marches  to  the  Church. 

In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 

In  the  bivouac  of  life, 
(Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle ; 

Be  a  woman,  be  a  wife ! 

Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasant ! 

Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead ! 
Act — act  In  the  living  Present. 

Heart  within,  and  Man  ahead ! 
207 


A   PSALM    OF   LIFE 

Lives  of  married  folks  remind  us 
We  can  live  our  lives  as  well, 

And,  departing,  leave  behind  us  ;— 
Such  examples  as  will  tell ; — 

Such  examples,  that  another. 
Sailing  far  from  Hymen's  port, 

A  forlorn,  unmarried  brother, 

Seeing,  shall  take  heart,  and  court. 

Let  us  then  be  up  and  doing, 
With  the  heart  and  head  begin ; 

Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor,  and  to  win ! 


30g 


AN  ODYSSEY  OF  K'S 

BY   WILBUR   D.    NESBIT 

I've  traveled  up  and  down  this  land 

And  crossed  it  in  a  hundred  ways, 
But  somehow  can  not  understand 

These  towns  with  names  chock-full  of  K's. 
For  instance,  once  it  fell  to  me 

To  pack  my  grip  and  quickly  go — 
I  thought  at  first  to  Kankakee 

But  then  remembered  Kokomo. 
"Oh,  Kankakee  or  Kokomo," 
I  sighed,  "just  which  I  do  not  know." 

Then  to  the  ticket  man  I  went — 

He  was  a  snappy  man,  and  bald, 
Behind  an  iron  railing  pent — 

And  I  confessed  that  I  was  stalled. 
"A  much  K'd  town  is  booked  for  me," 

I  said.  "I'm  due  to-morrow,  so 
I  wonder  if  it's  Kankakee 

Or  if  it  can  be  Kokomo." 
"There's  quite  a  difference,"  growled  he, 

Twixt  Kokomo  and  Kankakee." 


(( > 


He  spun  a  yard  of  tickets  out — 
The  folded  kind  that  makes  a  strip 

And  leaves  the  passenger  in  doubt 
When  the  conductor  takes  a  clip. 
209 


AN   ODYSSEY   OF.   K'S 

He  flipped  the  tickets  put,  I  say, 

And  asked :  "Now,  which  one  shall  It  be  ? 
I'll  sell  you  tickets  either  way — 

To  Kokomo  or  Kankakee." 
And  still  I  really  did  not  know — 
I  thought  it  might  be  Kokomo. 

At  any  rate,  I  took  a  chance ; 

He  struck  his  stamp-machine  a  blow 
And  I,  a  toy  of  circumstance, 

Was  ticketed  for  Kokomo. 
Upon  the  train  I  wondered  still 

If  all  was  right  as  it  should  be. 
Some  mystic  warning  seemed  to  fill 

My  mind  with  thoughts  of  Kankakee. 
iThe  car-wheels  clicked  it  out :  "Now,  he 
Had  better  be  for  Kankakee !" 

Until  at  last  it  grew  so  loud. 

At  some  big  town  I  clambered  out 
And  elbowed  madly  through  the  crowd, 

Determined  on  the  other  route. 
The  ticket-agent  saw  my  haste ; 

"Where  do  you  wish  to  go  ?"  cried  he. 
I  yelled :  "I  have  no  time  to  waste — 

Please  fix  me  up  for  Kankakee !" 
Again  the  wheels,  now  fast,  now  slow, 
Clicked :  "Ought  to  go  to  Kokomo !" 

Well,  anyhow,  I  did  not  heed 

The  message  that  they  sent  to  me. 

I  went,  and  landed  wrong  indeed — 
Went  all  the  way  to  Kankakee. 

2IO 


WILBUR    D.    NESBIT 

Then,  in  a  rush,  I  doubled  back — 

Went  wrong  again,  I'd  have  you  know. 

There  was  no  call  for  me,  alack ! 
Within  the  to^vn  of  Kokomo. 

And  then  I  learned,  confound  the  luck, 
I  should  have  gone  to  Keokuk! 


211 


THE  DEACON'S  TROUT 

BY    HENRY    WARD    BEECHER 

He  was  a  curious  trout.  I  believe  he  knew  Sunday- 
just  as  well  as  Deacon  Marble  did.  At  any  rate,  the 
deacon  thought  the  trout  meant  to  aggravate  him.  The 
deacon,  you  know,  is  a  little  waggish.  He  often  tells 
about  that  trout.  Sez  he,  "One  Sunday  morning,  just  as 
I  got  along  by  the  willows,  I  heard  an  awful  splash,  and 
not  ten  feet  from  shore  I  saw  the  trout,  as  long  as  my 
arm,  just  curving  over  like  a  bow,  and  going  down  with 
something  for  breakfast.  Gracious !  says  I,  and  I  almost 
jumped  out  pf  the  wagon.  But  my  wife  Polly,  says  she, 
*What  on  airth  are  you  thinkin'  of,  Deacon?  It's  Sab- 
bath day,  and  you're  goin'  to  meetin' !  It's  a  pretty  busi- 
ness for  a  deacon !'  That  sort  o'  cooled  me  off.  But  I  do 
say  that,  for  about  a  minute,  I  wished  I  wasn't  a  deacon. 
But  't  wouldn't  made  any  difference,  for  I  came  down 
next  day  to  mill  on  purpose,  and  I  came  down  once  or 
twice  more,  and  nothin'  was  to  be  seen,  tho'  I  tried  him 
with  the  most  temptin'  things.  Wal,  next  Sunday  I  came 
along  ag'in,  and,  to  save  my  life  I  couldn't  keep  off  worldly 
and  wanderin'  thoughts.  I  tried  to  be  sayin'  my  catechism, 
but  I  couldn't  keep  my  eyes  off  the  pond  as  we  came  up 
to  the  willows.  I'd  got  along  in  the  catechism,  as  smooth 
as  the  road,  to  the  Fourth  Commandment,  and  was  sayin* 
it  out  loud  for  Polly,  and  jist  as  I  was  sayin :  What  is  re- 
quired in  the  Fourth  Commandment?'  I  heard  a  splash, 
and  there  was  the  trout,  and,  afore  I  could  think,  I  said : 

212 


HENRY    WARD    BEECHER 

'Gracious,  Polly,  I  must  have  that  trout/  She  almost  riz 
right  up,  'I  knew  you  wa'n't  sayin'  your  catechism  hearty. 
Is  this  the  way  you  answer  the  question  about  keepin'  the 
Lord's  day?  I'm  ashamed.  Deacon  Marble,'  says  she. 
'You'd  better  change  your  road,  and  go  to  meetin'  on  the 
road  over  the  hill.  If  I  was  a  deacon,  I  wouldn't  let  a 
fish's  tail  whisk  the  whole  catechism  out  of  my  head' ;  and 
I  had  to  go  iQ  meetin'  on  the  hill  road  all  the  rest  of  the 
summer." 


ENOUGH* 

BY   TOM    MASSON 

I  shot  a  rocket  in  the  air, 
It  fell  to  earth,  I  knew  not  where 
Until  next  day,  with  rage  profound, 
The  man  it  fell  on  came  around. 
In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell, 
He  showed  me  where  that  rocket  fell ; 
And  now  I  do  not  greatly  care 
To  shoot  more  rockets  in  the  air. 

*  By  permission  of  Life  Publishing  Company. 


213' 


THE  FIGHTING  RACE 

BY  JOSEPH   I.    C.    CLARKE 

"Read  out  the  names !"  and  Burke  sat  back. 

And  Kelly  drooped  his  head, 
.While  Shea — they  call  him  Scholar  Jack — 

Went  down  the  list  of  the  dead. 
Officers,  seamen,  gunners,  marines, 

The  crews  of  the  gig  and  yawl. 
The  bearded  man  and  the  lad  in  his  teens, 

Carpenters,  coal-passers — all. 
Then  knocking  the  ashes  from  out  his  pipe, 

Said  Burke,  in  an  off-hand  way, 
''We're  all  in  that  dead  man's  list,  by  Cripe! 

Kelly  and  Burke  and  Shea." 
''Well,  here  's  to  the  Maine,  and  I'm  sorry  for  Spain !" 
Said  Kelly  and  Burke  and  Shea. 

''Wherever  there  's  Kellys  there  's  trouble,"  said 
Burke. 

"Wherever  fighting  's  the  game, 
Or  a  spice  of  danger  in  grown  man's  work,'* 

Said  Kelly,  "you'll  find  my  name." 
'And  do  we  fall  short,"  said  Burke,  getting  mad, 

"When  it  's  touch  and  go  for  life?" 
Said  Shea,  "It 's  thirty-odd  years,  be  dad. 

Since  I  charged  to  drum  and  fife 
Up  Marye's  Heights,  and  my  old  canteen 

Stopped  a  Rebel  ball  on  its  way. 
214 


JOSEPH    I.    C.    CLARKE 

There  were  blossoms  of  blood  on  our  sprigs  of 
green — 
Kelly  and  Burke  and  Shea — 
And  the  dead  did  n't  brag."    "Well,  here  's  to  the 
flag!" 
Said  Kelly  and  Burke  and  Shea. 

"I  wish  't  was  in  Ireland,  for  there's  the  place," 
Said  Burke,  "that  we  'd  die  by  right, 
In  the  cradle  of  our  soldier  race, 
After  one  good  stand-up  fight. 
My  grandfather  fell  on  Vinegar  Hill, 

And  fighting  was  not  his  trade ; 
But  his  rusty  pike  's  in  the  cabin  still, 
With  Hessian  blood  on  the  blade." 
"Aye,  aye,"  said  Kelly,  "the  pikes  were  great 
When  the  word  was  'Clear  the  way  1' 
We  were  thick  on  the  roll  in  ninety-eight — ■ 

Kelly  and  Burke  and  Shea." 
"Well,  here  's  to  the  pike  and  the  sword  and  the 
like!" 
Said  Kelly  and  Burke  and  Shea. 

And  Shea,  the  scholar,  with  rising  joy, 

Said  "We  were  at  Ramillies. 
We  left  our  bones  at  Fontenoy, 

And  up  in  the  Pyrenees, 
Before  Dunkirk,  on  Landen's  plain, 

Cremona,  Lille,  and  Ghent, 
We  're  all  over  Austria,  France,  and  Spain, 

Wherever  they  pitched  a  tent. 
We  've  died  for  England  from  Waterloo 

To  Egypt  and  Dargai ; 
215 


THE   FIGHTING   RACE 

And  still  there  's  enough  for  a  corps  or  crew, 
Kelly  and  Burke  and  Shea." 
"Well,  here  is  to  good  honest  fighting  blood !" 
Said  Kelly  and  Burke  and  Shea. 

"Oh,  the  fighting  races  don't  die  out. 

If  they  seldom  die  in  bed, 
For  love  is  first  in  their  hearts,  no  doubt," 

Said  Burke.   Then  Kelly  said : 
"When  Michael,  the  Irish  Archangel,  stands, 

The  angel  with  the  sword. 
And  the  battle-dead  from  a  hundred  lands 

Are  ranged  in  one  big  horde, 
Our  line,  that  for  Gabriel's  trumpet  waits. 

Will  stretch  tree  deep  that  day. 
From  Jehoshaphat  to  the  Golden  Gates — 

Kelly  and  Burke  and  Shea." 

"Well,  here  's  thank  God  for  the  race  and  the 
sod!" 

Said  Kelly  and  Burke  and  Shea. 


216 


THE  ORGAN 

BY   HENRY    WARD   BEECHER 

At  one  of  his  week  night  lectures,  Beecher  was  speak- 
ing about  the  building  and  equipping  of  new  churches. 
After  a  few  satirical  touches  about  church  architects  and 
their  work,  he  went  on  to  ridicule  the  usual  style  of  pul- 
pit— the  "sacred  mahogany  tub" — "plastered  up  against 
some  pillar  like  a  barn-swallow's  nest."  Then  he  passed 
on  to  the  erection  of  the  organ,  and  to  the  opening  recital. 

"The  organ  long  expected  has  arrived,  been  unpacked, 
set  up',  and  gloried  over.  The  great  players  of  the  region 
round  about,  or  of  distant  celebrity,  have  had  the  grand 
organ  exhibition;  and  this  magnificent  instrument  has 
been  put  through  all  its  paces  in  a  manner  which  has  sur- 
prised every  one,  and,  if  it  had  had  a  conscious  existence, 
must  have  surprised  the  organ  itself  most  of  all.  It  has 
piped,  fluted,  trumpeted,  brayed,  thundered.  It  has  played 
so  loud  that  everybody  was  deafened,  and  so  soft  that  no- 
body could  hear.  The  pedals  played  for  thunder,  the 
flutes  languished  and  coquetted,  and  the  swell  died  away 
in  delicious  suffocation,  like  one  singing  a  sweet  song 
under  the  bed-clothes.  Now  it  leads  down  a  stupendous 
waltz  with  full  brass,  sounding  very  much  as  if,  in  sum- 
mer, a  thunderstorm  should  play,  'Come,  Haste  to  the 
Wedding,'  or  'Moneymusk.'  Then  come  marches,  galops, 
and  hornpipes.  An  organ  playing  hornpipes  ought  to 
have  elephants  as  dancers. 

"At  length  a  fugue  is  rendered  to  show  the  whole  scope 

217 


THE    ORGAN 

and  power  of  the  Instrument.  The  theme,  like  a  cautious 
rat,  peeps  out  to  see  if  the  coast  is  clear;  and,  after  a  few 
hesitations,  comes  forth  and  begins  to  frisk  a  little,  and 
run  up  and  down  to  see  what  it  can  find.  It  finds  just  what 
it  did  not  want,  a  purring  tenor  lying  in  ambush  and 
waiting  for  a  spring ;  and  as  the  theme  comes  incautiously 
near,  the  savage  cat  of  a  tenor  springs  at  it,  misses  its 
hold,  and  then  takes  after  it  with  terrible  earnestness. 
But  the  tenor  has  miscalculated  the  agility  of  the  theme. 
All  that  it  could  do,  with  the  most  desperate  effort,  was 
to  keep  the  theme  from  running  back  into  its  hole  again ; 
and  so  they  ran  up  and  down,  around  and  around,  dodg- 
ing, eluding,  whipping  in  and  out  of  every  corner  and 
nook,  till  the  whole  organ  was  aroused,  and  the  bass  be- 
gan to  take  part,  but  unluckily  slipped  and  rolled  down- 
stairs, and  lay  at  the  bottom  raving  and  growling  in  the 
most  awful  manner,  and  nothing  could  appease  it.  Some- 
times the  theme  was  caught  by  one  part,  and  dangled 
for  a  moment,  then  with  a  snatch,  another  part  took  it 
and  ran  off  exultant,  until,  unawares,  the  same  trick  was 
played  pn  it ;  and,  finally,  all  the  parts,  being  greatly  exer- 
cised in  mind,  began  to  chase  each  other  promiscuously  in 
and  out,  up  and  down,  now  separating  and  now  rushing 
in  full  tilt  together,  until  everything  in  the  organ  loses 
patience  and  all  the  'stops'  are  drawn,  and,  in  spite  of  all 
that  the  brave  organist  could  do — who  bobbed  up  and 
down,  feet,  hands,  head  and  all — the  tune  broke  up  into 
a  real  row,  and  every  part  was  clubbing  every  other  one, 
until  at  length,  patience  being  no  longer  a  virtue,  the 
organist,  with  two  or  three  terrible  crashes,  put  an  end  to 
the  riot,  and  brought  the  great  organ  back  to  silence." 


218 


MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  TURKEY-TAIL  FAN 

BY   SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK 

It  owned  not  the  color  that  vanity  dons 

Or  slender  wits  choose  for  display ; 
Its  beautiful  tint  was  a  delicate  bronze, 

A  brown  softly  blended  with  gray. 
From  her  waist  to  her  chin,  spreading  out  without  break, 

'Twas  built  on  a  generous  plan : 
The  pride  of  the  forest  was  slaughtered  to  make 

My  grandmother's  turkey-tail  fan. 

For  common  occasions  it  never  was  meant : 

In  a  chest  between  two  silken  cloths 
'Twas  kept  safely  hidden  with  careful  intent 

In  camphor  to  keep  out  the  moths. 
'Twas  famed  far  and  wide  through  the  whole  countryside, 

From  Beersheba  e'en  unto  Dan ; 
And  often  at  meeting  with  envy  'twas  eyed. 

My  grandmother's  turkey-tail  fan. 

Camp-meetings,  indeed,  were  its  chiefest  delight. 

Like  a  crook  unto  sheep  gone  astray 
It  beckoned  backsliders  to  re-seek  the  right. 

And  exhorted  the  sinners  to  pray. 
It  always  beat  time  when  the  choir  went  wrong, 

In  psalmody  leading  the  van. 
Old  Hundred,  I  know,  was  its  favorite  song — 

My  grandmother's  turkey-tail  fan. 

219 


MY  GRANDMOTHER'S   TURKEY-TAIL   FAN 

!A  fig  for  the  fans  that  are  made  nowadays, 

Suited  only  to  frivolous  mirth ! 
'A  different  thing  was  the  fan  that  I  praise, 

Yet  it  scorned  not  the  good  things  of  earth. 
At  bees  and  at  quiltings  'twas  aye  to  be  seen ; 

The  best  of  the  gossip  began 
(When  in  at  the  doorway  had  entered  serene 

My  grandmother's  turkey-tail  fan. 

Tradition  relates  of  it  wonderful  tales. 

Its  handle  of  leather  was  buff. 
Though  shorn  of  its  glory,  e'en  now  it  exhales 

An  odor  of  hymn-books  and  snuff. 
Its  primeval  grace,  if  you  like,  you  can  trace : 

'Twas  limned  for  the  future  to  scan, 
Just  under  a  smiling  gold-spectacled  face, 

My  grandmother's  turkey-tail  fan. 


220 


THE  TWO  NEW  HOUSES 

BY   CAROLYN   WELLS 

Once  on  a  Time,  there  were  Two  Men,  each  of  whom 
decided  to  build  for  himself  a  Fine,  New  House. 

One  Man,  being  of  an  Arrogant  and  Conceited  Na- 
ture, took  counsel  of  Nobody,  but  declared  that  he  would 
build  his  House  to  suit  himself. 

"For,"  said  he,  "since  it  is  My  House  and  I  am  to 
Live  in  It,  why  should  I  ask  the  Advice  of  my  Neighbors 
as  to  its  Construction?" 

While  the  House  was  Building,  the  Neighbors  came 
often  and  Looked  at  it,  and  went  away,  Whispering  and 
Wagging  their  Heads  in  Derision. 

But  the  Man  paid  no  Heed,  and  continued  to  build  his 
House  as  he  Would. 

The  Result  was  that,  when  completed,  his  House  was 
lacking  in  Symmetry  and  Utility,  and  in  a  Hundred  ways 
it  was  Unsatisfactory,  and  for  each  Defect  there  was  a 
Neighbor  who  said,  "Had  you  asked  Me,  I  would  have 
Warned  you  against  that  Error." 

,  The  Other  Man,  who  was  of  a  Humble  and  Docile 
Mind,  went  to  Each  of  his  Neighbors  in  Turn,  and  asked 
Advice  about  the  Building  of  his  House. 

His  Friends  willingly  and  at  Great  Length  gave  him 
the  Benefit  of  their  Experiences  and  Opinions,  and  the 
Grateful  Man  undertook  to  Follow  Out  all  their  Direc- 
tions. 

The  Result  was  that  his  House,  when  finished,  was  a 

221 


THE   TWO    NEW   HOUSES 

Hodge-Podge  of  Varying  Styles  and  Contradictory  Ef- 
fects, and  Exceedingly  Uncomfortable  and  Inconvenient 
to  Live  In. 

MORALS  : 

This  Fable  teaches  that  In  a  Multitude  of  Counselors 
there  is  Safety,  and  that  Too  Many  Cooks  Spoil  the 
Broth. 


YES? 

BY   JOHN    BOYLE   o'rEILLY 

The  words  of  the  lips  are  double  or  single. 

True  or  false,  as  we  say  or  sing : 
But  the  words  of  the  eyes  that  mix  and  mingle 

Are  always  saying  the  same  old  thing. 


FASCINATION 

BY   JOHN    B.    TABB 

Among  your  many  playmates  here, 
How  is  it  that  you  all  prefer 

Your  little  friend,  my  dear? 
''Because,  mamma,  tho'  hard  we  try, 
Not  one  of  us  can  spit  so  high, 

And  catch  it  in  his  ear." 


222 


BARNEY  McGEE 

BY    RICHARD    HOVEY 

Barney  McGee,  there's  no  end  of  good  luck  in  you, 
Will-o'-the-wisp,  with  a  flicker  of  Puck  in  you, 
Wild  as  a  bull-pup,  and  all  of  his  pluck  in  you — 
Let  a  man  tread  on  your  coat  and  he'll  see ! 
Eyes  like  the  lakes  of  Killarney  for  clarity, 
Nose  that  turns  up  without  any  vulgarity, 
Smile  like  a  cherub,  and  hair  that  is  carroty — 
Whoop,  you're  a  rarity,  Barney  McGee ! 
Mellow  as  Tarragon, 
Prouder  than  Aragon — 
Hardly  a  paragon, 
You  will  agree — 
Here's  all  that's  fine  to  you ! 
Books  and  old  wine  to  you ! 
Girls  be  divine  to  you, 
Barney  McGee ! 

Lucky  the  day  when  I  met  you  unwittingly. 
Dining  where  vagabonds  came  and  went  flittingly. 
Here's  some  Barhcra  to  drink  it  befittingly, 
That  day  at  Silvio's,  Barney  McGee ! 
Many's  the  time  we  have  quaffed  our  Chianti  there, 
Listened  to  Silvio  quoting  us  Dante  there — 
Once  more  to  drink  Nebiolo  spumante  there, 
How  we'd  pitch  Pommery  into  the  sea ! 
There  where  the  gang  of  us 
Met  ere  Rome  rang  of  us, 

223 


BARNEY    McGEE 

They  had  the  hang  of  us 
To  a  degree. 

How  they  would  trust  to  you ! 
That  was  but  just  to  you. 
Here's  o'er  their  dust  to  you, 
Barney  McGee ! 

Barney  McGee,  when  you're  sober  you  scintillate, 

But  when  you're  in  drink  you're  the  pride  of  the  intellect; 

Divil  a  one  of  us  ever  came  in  till  late, 

Once  at  the  bar  where  you  happened  to  be — 

Every  eye  there  like  a  spoke  in  you  centering, 

You  with  your  eloquence,  blarney,  and  bantering — 

All  Vagabondia  shouts  at  your  entering, 

King  of  the  Tenderloin,  Barney  McGee  1 

There's  no  satiety 

In  your  society 

With  the  variety 

Of  your  esprit. 

Here's  a  long  purse  to  you, 

And  a  great  thirst  to  you ! 

Fate  be  no  worse  to  you, 

Barney  McGee ! 

Och,  and  the  girls  whose  poor  hearts  you  deracinate, 
Whirl  and  bewilder  and  flutter  and  fascinate ! 
Faith,  It's  so  killing  you  are,  you  assassinate — 
Murder's  the  word  for  you,  Barney  McGee ! 
Bold  when  they're  sunny,  and  smooth  when  they're  show- 
ery— 
Oh,  but  the  style  of  you,  fluent  and  flowery ! 
Chesterfield's  way,  with  a  touch  of  the  Bowery! 
How  would  they  silence  you,  Barney  machree? 
Naught  can  your  gab  allay, 

224 


RICHARD    HOVEY 

Learned  as  Rabelais 
(You  in  his  abbey  lay- 
Once  on  the  spree). 
Here's  to  the  smile  of  you, 
(Oh,  but  the  guile  of  you !) 
And  a  long  while  of  you, 
Barney  McGee ! 

Facile  with  phrases  of  length  and  Latinity, 

Like  honorificabilitudinity, 

Where  is  the  maid  could  resist  your  vicinity, 

Wiled  by  the  impudent  grace  of  your  plea  ? 

Then  your  vivacity  and  pertinacity 

Carry  the  day  with  the  divil's  audacity ; 

No  mere  veracity  robs  your  sagacity 

Of  perspicacity,  Barney  McGee. 

When  all  is  new  to  them, 

What  will  you  do  to  them? 

Will  you  be  true  to  them  ? 

Who  shall  decree  ? 

Here's  a  fair  strife  to  you ! 

Health  and  long  life  to  you ! 

And  a  great  wife  to  you,  Barney  McGee ! 

Barney  McGee,  you're  the  pick  of  gentility ; 
Nothing  can  phase  you,  you've  such  a  facility ; 
Nobody  ever  yet  found  your  utility — 
There  is  the  charm  of  you,  Barney  McGee ; 
Under  conditions  that  others  would  stammer  in, 
Still  unperturbed  as  a  cat  or  a  Cameron, 
Polished  as  somebody  in  the  Decameron, 
Putting  the  glamour  on  price  or  Pawnee. 
In  your  meanderin', 
Love  and  philanderin', 

225 


BARNEY    McGEE 

Calm  as  a  mandarin 
Sipping  his  tea ! 
Under  the  art  of  you, 
Parcel  and  part  of  you, 
Here's  to  the  heart  of  you, 
Barney  McGee! 

You  who  were  ever  alert  to  befriend  a  man, 

You  who  were  ever  the  first  to  defend  a  man, 

You  who  had  always  the  money  to  lend  a  man, 

Down  on  his  luck  and  hard  up  for  a  V ! 

Sure,  you'll  be  playing  a  harp  in  beatitude 

(And  a  quare  sight  you  will  be  in  that  attitude )- 

Some  day,  where  gratitude  seems  but  a  platitude, 

You'll  find  your  latitude,  Barney  McGee. 

That's  no  flim-flam  at  all, 

Frivol  or  sham  at  all. 

Just  the  plain — Damn  it  all, 

Have  one  with  me ! 

Here's  one  and  more  to  you ! 

Friends  by  the  score  to  you, 

True  to  the  core  to  you, 

Barney  McGee ! 


226 


THE  OLD  DEACON'S  VERSION 

OF  THE  STORY  OF  THE  RICH  MAN  AND  LAZARUS 
BY   FRANK   L.    STANTON 

I  s'pose  yo'  know  de  story,  O  my  brotherin',  er  de  man 
Dat  wuz  rich  ez  cream,  en  livin'  on  de  fatness  er  de  Ian'  ? 
How  he  sot  dar  eatin'  'possum,  en  when  Laz'rus  ax  fer 

some, 
He  tell  'im:     "Git  erway,  dar!  fer  you'll  never  git  a 

crumb !" 

De  rich  man  wuz  a  feastin'  f'um  his  chiny  plate  en  cup, 
Kaze  he  'fraid  his  po'  relations  come  en  eat  his  wittles  up ; 
I  spec'  he  had  ttvo  'possums  on  de  table  long  en  wide, 
En  a  jimmyjohn  er  cane  juice  wuz  a-settin'  by  his  side. 

En  he  say :  "Dis  heah  des  suits  me,  en  I  gwine  ter  eat  my 

fill; 
But  I'll  sic  de  dogs  on  Laz'rus,  ef  he  waitin'  roun'  heah 

still." 
En  de  dogs  commence  dey  barkin',  raise  a  racket  high  en 

low. 
En  when  Laz'rus  see  'em  comin'  he  decide  'twuz  time  ter 

go. 

So,  he  limp  off  on  his  crutches,  en  de  rich  man  think  it's 

fun. 
But  I  reckon  Laz'rus  answer:    "I'll  git  even  wid  you, 

son!" 
De  rich  man  so  enjoy  hisse'f  he  laugh  hisse'f  ter  bed, 
En,  brotherin',  when  he  wake  up  he  wuz  stiff,  stone  dead ! 

227 


THE    OLD    DEACON'S    VERSION 

En  den  he  raise  a  racket,  en  he  holler  out :  "What  dis  ? 
De  place  is  pnfamiliar,  en  I  wonder  whar'  I  is?" 
Den  Satan,  he  mek  answer :  "I'm  de  man  ter  tell  you  dat : 
You's  in  de  fire  department  er  de  place  I  livin'  at!"' 

Den  de  rich  man  say :  "Whar'  Laz'rus  dat  wuz  beggin'  at 

my  gate  ?" 
En  Satan  tell  him :  "Yander,  wid  a  silver  spoon  en  plate; 
En  he  eatin'  fit  ter  kill  hisse'f !  He  spendin'  er  de  day 
Wid  good  ol'  Mister  Abra'm,  but  he  mighty  fur  away !" 

"Will  you  please,  suh,"  say  de  ricii  man,  "ax  him  bring  a 

drink  ter  me, 
Wid  a  li'r  ice  ter  cool  it?  Kaze  I  hot  ez  hot  kin  be!" 
But  Satan  fall  ter  laughin',  whilst  he  stir  de  fire  roun' : — 
"De  ice  would  melt,  my  brother,  'fo'  it  ever  hit  de  groun' !" 

Den  he  fill  a  cup  wid  brimstone — fill  it  steamin'  ter  de  top ; 
But  de  rich  man  say  he  swear  off,  dat  he  never  tech  a 

drop! 
But  Satan  grab  his  pitchfork  whilst  de  rich  man  give  a 

squall. 
En  in  'bout  a  half  a  second  he  had  swallered  cup  en  all ! 

Now,  dat's  erbout  de  story  er  de  rich  man  at  de  feas', 
What  wouldn't  pass  de  'possum  roun'  when  Laz'rus  want 

a  piece. 
De  'possum  means  yo'  pocketbook,  de  moral's  plain  ez 

day: 
Shake  de  dollars  in  de  basket  'fo'  you  go  de  rich  man's 

way! 


228 


THE  TWO  SUITORS 

BY    CAROLYN    WELLS 

Once  on  a  Time  there  was  a  Charming  Young  Maiden 
who  had  Two  Suitors. 

One  of  These,  who  was  of  a  Persistent  and  Persevering 
Nature,  managed  to  be  Continually  in  the  Young  Lady's 
Company. 

He  would  pay  her  a  visit  in  the  Morning,  Drop  In  to 
Tea  in  the  Afternoon,  and  Call  on  her  Again  in  the 
Evening. 

He  took  her  Driving,  and  he  Escorted  her  to  the  The- 
ater. He  would  take  her  to  a  Party,  and  then  he  would 
Dance,  or  Sit  on  the  Stairs,  or  Flit  into  the  Conservatory 
with  her. 

The  Young  Lady  admired  this  man  but  she  Wearied 
of  his  never-ceasing  Presence,  and  she  Said  to  Herself, 
"If  he  were  not  Always  at  my  Elbow  I  should  Better  Ap- 
preciate his  Good  Qualities." 

The  Other  Suitor,  who  considered  himself  a  Man  of 
Deep  and  Penetrating  Cleverness,  said  to  himself,  "I  will 
Go  Away  for  a  Time,  and  then  my  Fair  One  will  Realize 
my  Worth  and  Call  Me  Back  to  Her." 

With  a  sad  Visage  he  made  his  Adieus,  and  he  Ex- 
acted her  Pledge  to  Write  to  him  Occasionally.  But  after 
he  had  Gone  she  Forgot  her  Promise,  and  Soon  she  For- 
got his  Very  Existence. 

MORALS : 

This  Fable  teaches  that  Absence  Makes  the  Heart 
Grow  Fonder,  and  that  Out  of  Sight  is  Out  of  Mind. 

229 


THE  RECRUIT 

BY    ROBERT    W.    CHAMBERS 

Sez  Corporal  Madden  to  Private  McFadden : 
"Bedad,  yer  a  bad  'un ! 
Now  turn  out  yer  toes ! 
Yer  belt  is  unhookit, 
Yer  cap  is  on  crookit. 
Ye  may  not  be  dhrunk, 
But,  be  jabers,  ye  look  it ! 
Wan — two ! 
Wan — two ! 
Ye  monkey-faced  divil,  I'll  jolly  ye  through! 
Wan — two ! 
Time!  Mark! 
Ye  march  like  the  aigle  in  Cintheral  Parrk !" 

Sez  Corporal  Madden  to  Private  McFadden : 
"A  saint  it  ud  sadden 
To  dhrill  such  a  mug ! 
Eyes  front !  ye  baboon,  ye ! 
Chin  up !  ye  gossoon,  ye ! 
Ye've  jaws  like  a  goat — 
Halt !  ye  leather-lipped  loon,  ye ! 
Wan — two ! 
Wan — two ! 
Ye  whiskered  orang-outang,  I'll  fix  you ! 
Wan — two ! 
Time!  Mark! 
Ye've  eyes  like  a  bat !  can  ye  see  In  the  dark  ?" 
230 


ROBERT    W.    CHAMBERS 

Sez  Corporal  Madden  to  Private  McFadden : 
"Yer  figger  wants  padd'n — 
Sure,  man,  ye've  no  shape ! 
Behind  ye  yer  shoulders 
Stick  out  like  two  bowlders ; 
Yer  shins  is  as  thin 
As  a  pair  of  pen-holders ! 
Wan — two ! 
Wan — two ! 
Yer  belly  belongs  on  yer  back,  ye  Jew  I 
Wan — two ! 
Time!  Mark! 
I'm  dhry  as  a  dog— I  can't  shpake  but  I  bark!" 

Sez  Corporal  Madden  to  Private  McFadden : 
"Me  heart  it  ud  gladden 
To  blacken  yer  eye. 
Ye' re  gettin'  too  bold,  ye 
Compel  me  to  scold  ye — 
'T  is  halt !  that  I  say- 
Will  ye  heed  what  I  told  ye? 
Wan — two 
Wan — two ! 
Be  jabers,  I'm  dhryer  than  Brian  Boru! 
Wan — two ! 
Time!  Mark! 
What's  wur-ruk  for  chickens  is  sport  for  the  lark !" 

Sez  Corporal  Madden  to  Private  McFadden : 
"I'll  not  stay  a  gadd'n 
Wid  dagoes  like  you ! 
I'll  travel  no  farther, 
I'm  dyin'  for — wather; 
Come  on,  if  ye  like — 
231 


THE    RECRUIT 

Can  ye  loan  me  a  quarther  ? 
Ya-as,  you, 
What— two  ? 
And  ye'll  pay  the  potheen  ?  Ye're  a  daisy ! 
Whurroo ! 
You'll  do! 
Whist!  Mark! 
The  Rigiment's  flatthered  to  own  ye,  me  spark !" 


THE  BEECHER  BEACHED 

BY    JOHN    B,    TABB 

Were  Harriet  Beecher  well  aware 
Of  what  was  done  in  Delaware, 
Of  that  unwholesome  smell  aware. 

She'd  make  all  heaven  and  hell  aware, 
And  ask  John  Brown  to  tell  her  where 
Henceforth  she  best  misrht  sell  her  ware. 


232 


OUR  BEST  SOCIETY 

BY  GEORGE   WILLIAM    CURTIS 

If  gilt  were  only  gold,  or  sugar-candy  common  sense, 
what  a  fine  thing  our  society  would  be !  If  to  lavish 
money  upon  oh  jets  de  vcrtu,  to  wear  the  most  costly 
dresses,  and  always  to  have  them  cut  in  the  height  of  the 
fashion;  to  build  houses  thirty  feet  broad,  as  if  they  were 
palaces;  to  furnish  them  with  all  the  luxurious  devices 
of  Parisian  genius ;  to  give  superb  banquets,  at  which  your 
guests  laugh,  and  which  make  you  miserable;  to  drive 
a  fine  carriage  and  ape  European  liveries,  and  crests,  and 
coats-of-arms ;  to  resent  the  friendly  advances  of  your 
baker's  wife,  and  the  lady  of  your  butcher  (you  being 
yourself  a  cobbler's  daughter)  ;  to  talk  much  of  the  "old 
families"  and  of  your  aristocratic  foreign  friends ;  to  de- 
spise labor;  to  prate  of  "good  society";  to  travesty  and 
parody,  in  every  conceivable  way,  a  society  which  we 
know  only  in  books  and  by  the  superficial  observation  of 
foreign  travel,  which  arises  out  of  a  social  organization 
entirely  unknown  to  us,  and  which  is  opposed  to  our  fun- 
damental and  essential  principles;  if  all  this  were  fine, 
what  a  prodigiously  fine  society  would  ours  be! 

This  occurred  to  us  upon  lately  receiving  a  card  of  in- 
vitation to  a  brilliant  ball.  We  were  quietly  ruminating 
over  our  evening  fire,  with  Disraeli's  Wellington  speech, 
"all  tears,"  in  our  hands,  with  the  account  of  a  great 
man's  burial,  and  a  little  man's  triumph  across  the  chan- 
nel.   So  many  great  men  gone,  we  mused,  and  such  great 

233 


OUR   BEST    SOCIETY 

crises  impending!  This  democratic  movement  in  Eu- 
rope; Kossuth  and  Mazzini  waiting  for  the  moment  to 
give  the  word;  the  Russian  bear  watchfully  sucking  his 
paws;  the  Napoleonic  empire  redivivus;  Cuba,  and  an- 
nexation, and  Slavery;  California  and  Australia,  and  the 
consequent  considerations  of  political  economy ;  dear  me ! 
exclaimed  we,  putting  on  a  fresh  hodful  of  coal,  we  must 
look  a  little  into  the  state  of  parties. 

As  we  put  down  the  coal-scuttle,  there  was  a  knock  at 
the  door.  We  said,  "come  in,"  and  in  came  a  neat  Al- 
hambra-watered  envelope,  containing  the  announcement 
that  the  queen  of  fashion  was  "at  home"  that  evening 
week.  Later  in  the  evening,  came  a  friend  to  smoke  a 
cigar.  The  card  was  lying  upon  the  table,  and  he  read 
it  with  eagerness.  "You'll  go,  of  course,"  said  he,  "for 
you  will  meet  all  the  'best  society.'  " 

Shall  we,  truly?  Shall  we  really  see  the  "best  society 
of  the  city,"  the  picked  flower  of  its  genius,  character  and 
beauty?  What  makes  the  "best  society"  of  men  and 
women?  The  noblest  specimens  of  each,  of  course.  The 
men  who  mould  the  time,  who  refresh  our  faith  in  hero- 
ism and  virtue,  who  make  Plato,  and  Zeno,  and  Shake- 
speare, and  all  Shakespeare's  gentlemen,  possible  again. 
The  women,  whose  beauty,  and  sweetness,  and  dignity, 
and  high  accomplishment,  and  grace,  make  us  understand 
the  Greek  mythology,  and  weaken  our  desire  to  have  some 
glimpse  of  the  most  famous  women  of  history.  The  "best 
society"  is  that  in  which  the  virtues  are  most  shining, 
which  is  the  most  charitable,  forgiving,  long-suffering, 
modest,  and  innocent.  The  "best  society"  is,  by  its  very 
name,  that  in  which  there  is  the  least  hypocrisy  and  in- 
sincerity of  all  kinds,  which  recoils  from,  and  blasts,  arti- 
ficiality, which  is  anxious  to  be  all  that  it  is  possible  to 
be,  and  which  sternly  reprobates  all  shallow  pretense,  all 

234 


GEORGE   WILLIAM    CURTIS 

coxcombry  and  foppery,  and  insists  upon  simplicity  as 
the  infallible  characteristic  of  true  worth.  That  is  the 
"best  society,"  which,  comprises  the  best  men  and  women. 
Had  we  recently  arrived  from  the  moon,  we  might, 
upon  hearing  that  we  were  to  meet  the  ''best  society," 
have  fancied  that  we  were  about  to  enjoy  an  opportunity 
not  to  be  overvalued.  But  unfortunately  we  were  not  so 
freshly  arrived.  We  had  received  other  cards,  and  had 
perfected  our  toilette  many  times,  to  meet  this  same  so- 
ciety, so  magnificently  described,  and  had  found  it  the 
least  "best"  of  all.  Who  compose  it?  Whom  shall  we 
meet  if  we  go  to  this  ball?  We  shall  meet  three  classes  of 
persons :  first,  those  who  are  rich,  and  who  have  all  that 
money  can  buy;  second,  those  who  belong  to  what  are 
technically  called  "the  good  old  families,"  because  some 
ancestor  was  a  man  of  mark  in  the  state  or  country,  or 
was  very  rich,  and  has  kept  the  fortune  in  the  family; 
and,  thirdly,  a  swarm  of  youths  who  can  dance  dexter- 
ously, and  who  are  invited  for  that  purpose.  Now  these 
are  all  arbitrary  and  factitious  distinctions  upon  which 
to  found  so  profound  a  social  difference  as  that  which  ex- 
ists in  American,  or,  at  least  in  New  York,  society.  First, 
as  a  general  rule,  the  rich  men  of  every  community,  who 
make  their  own  money,  are  not  the  most  generally  intelli- 
gent and  cultivated.  They  have  a  shrewd  talent  which 
secures  a  fortune,  and  which  keeps  them  closely  at  the 
work  of  amassing  from  their  youngest  years  until  they  are 
old.  They  are  sturdy  men,  of  simple  tastes  often.  Some- 
times, though  rarely,  very  generous,  but  necessarily  with 
an  altogether  false  and  exaggerated  idea  of  the  import- 
ance of  money.  They  are  a  rather  rough,  unsympathetic, 
and,  perhaps,  selfish  class,  who,  themselves,  despise  purple 
and  fine  linen,  and  still  prefer  a  cot-bed  and  a  bare  room, 
although  they  may  be  worth  millions.    But  they  are  mar- 

235 


OUR    BEST    SOCIETY 

ried  to  scheming,  or  ambitious,  or  disappointed  women, 
whose  Hfe  is  a  prolonged  pageant,  and  they  are  dragged 
hither  and  thither  in  it,  are  bled  of  their  golden  blood, 
and  forced  into  a  position  they  do  not  covet  and  which 
they  despise.  Then  there  are  the  inheritors  of  wealth. 
How  many  of  them  inherit  the  valiant  genius  and  hard 
frugality  which  built  up  their  fortunes;  how  many  ac- 
knowledge the  stern  and  heavy  responsibility  of  their  op- 
portunities ;  how  many  refuse  to  dream  their  lives  away 
in  a  Sybarite  luxury;  how  many  are  smitten  with  the 
lofty  ambition  of  achieving  an  enduring  name  by  works 
of  a  permanent  value;  how  many  do  not  dwindle  into 
dainty  dilettanti,  and  dilute  their  manhood  with  factitious 
sentimentality  instead  of  a  hearty,  human  sympathy;  how 
many  are  not  satisfied  with  having  the  fastest  horses  and 
the  "crackest"  carriages,  and  an  unlimited  wardrobe,  and 
a  weak  affectation  and  puerile  imitation  of  foreign  life? 
And  who  are  these  of  pur  secondly,  these  "old  fam- 
ilies?" The  spirit  of  our  time  and  of  our  country  knows 
no  such  thing,  but  the  habitue  of  "society"  hears  con- 
stantly of  "a  good  family."  It  means  simply,  the  collec- 
tive mass  of  children,  grand-children,  nephews,  nieces, 
and  descendants,  of  some  man  who  deserved  well  of  his 
country,  and  whom  his  country  honors.  But  sad  is  the 
heritage  of  a  great  name !  The  son  of  Burke  will  inevi- 
tably be  measured  by  Burke.  The  niece  of  Pope  must 
show  some  superiority  to  other  women  (so  to  speak),  or 
her  equality  is  inferiority.  The  feeling  of  men  attributes 
some  magical  charm  to  blood,  and  we  look  to  see  the 
daughter  of  Helen  as  fair  as  her  mother,  and  the  son  of 
Shakespeare  musical  as  his  sire.  If  they  are  not  so,  if 
they  are  merely  names,  and  common  persons — if  there  is 
no  Burke,  nor  Shakespeare,  nor  Washington,  nor  Bacon, 
in  their  words,  or  actions,  or  lives,  then  we  must  pity 

236 


GEORGE    WILLIAM    CURTIS 

them,  and  pass  gently  on,  not  upbraiding  them,  but  re- 
gretting that  it  is  one  of  the  laws  of  greatness  that  it 
dwindles  all  things  in  its  vicinity,  which  would  otherwise 
show  large  enough.  Nay,  in  our  regard  for  the  great  man, 
we  may  even  admit  to  a  compassionate  honor,  as  pension- 
ers upon  our  charity,  those  who  bear  and  transmit  his 
name.  But  if  these  heirs  should  presume  upon  that  fame, 
and  claim  any  precedence  of  living  men  and  women  be- 
cause their  dead  grandfather  was  a  hero — they  must  be 
shown  the  door  directly.  We  should  dread  to  be  born  a 
Percy,  or  a  Colonna,  or  a  Bonaparte.  We  should  not  like 
to  be  the  second  Duke  of  Wellington,  nor  Charles  Dick- 
ens, Jr.  It  is  a  terrible  thing,  one  would  say,  to  a  mind  of 
honorable  feeling,  to  be  pointed  out  as  somebody's  son, 
pr  uncle,  or  granddaughter,  as  if  the  excellence  were  all 
derived.  It  must  be  a  little  humiliating  to  reflect  that  if 
your  great-uncle  had  not  been  somebody,  you  would  be 
nobody — that,  in  fact,  you  are  only  a  name,  and  that,  if 
you  should  consent  to  change  it  for  the  sake  of  a  fortune, 
as  is  sometimes  done,  you  would  cease  to  be  anything 
but  a  rich  man.  "My  father  was  President,  or  Governor 
of  the  State,"  some  pompous  man  may  say.  But,  by  Jupi- 
ter !  king  of  gods  and  men,  what  are  youf  is  the  instinctive 
response.  Do  you  not  see,  our  pompous  friend,  that  you 
are  only  pointing  your  own  unimportance  ?  If  your  father 
was  Governor  of  the  State,  what  right  have  you  to  use 
that  fact  only  to  fatten  your  self-conceit?  Take  care, 
good  care ;  for  whether  you  say  it  by  your  lips  or  by  your 
life,  that  withering  response  awaits  you — "then  what  are 
youf"  If  your  ancestor  was  great,  you  are  under  bonds 
to  greatness.  If  you  are  small,  make  haste  to  learn  it 
betimes,  and,  thanking  heaven  that  your  name  has  been 
made  illustrious,  retire  into  a  corner  and  keep  it,  at  least, 
untarnished. 

237 


OUR    BEST    SOCIETY 

Our  thirdly,  is  a  class  made  by  sundry  French  tailors, 
bootmakers,  dancing-masters,  and  Mr.  Brown.  They  are 
a  corps-de-ballet,  for  use  of  private  entertainments.  They 
are  fostered  by  society  for  the  use  of  young  debutantes, 
and  hardier  damsels,  who  have  dared  two  or  three  years 
of  the  "tight"  polka.  They  are  cultivated  for  their  heels, 
not  their  heads.  Their  life  begins  at  ten  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  and  lasts  until  four  in  the  morning.  They  go 
home  and  sleep  until  nine ;  then  they  reel,  sleepy,  to  count- 
ing-houses and  offices,  and  doze  on  desks  until  dinner- 
time. Or,  unable  to  do  that,  they  are  actively  at  work  all 
day,  and  their  cheeks  grow  pale,  and  their  lips  thin,  and 
their  eyes  bloodshot  and  hollow,  and  they  drag  them- 
selves home  at  evening  to  catch  a  nap  until  the  ball  begins, 
or  to  dine  and  smoke  at  their  club,  and  the  very  manly 
with  punches  and  coarse  stories ;  and  then  to  rush  into  hot 
and  glittering  rooms,  and  seize  very  decollete  girls 
closely  around  the  waist,  and  dash  with  them  around  an 
area  of  stretched  linen,  saying  in  the  panting  pauses, 
"How  very  hot  it  is!"  "How  very  pretty  Miss  Podge 
looks!"  "What  a  good  redowa!"  "Are  you  going  to 
Mrs.  Potiphar's?" 

Is  this  the  assembled  flower  of  manhood  and  woman- 
hood, called  "best  society,"  and  to  see  which  is  so  envied 
a  privilege?  If  such  are  the  elements,  can  we  be  long  in 
arriving  at  the  present  state,  and  necessary  future  con- 
dition of  parties  ? 

Vanity  Fair  is  peculiarly  a  picture  of  modern  so- 
ciety. It  aims  at  English  follies,  but  its  mark  is  universal, 
as  the  madness  is.  It  is  called  a  satire,  but,  after  much 
diligent  reading,  we  can  not  discover  the  satire.  A  state 
of  society  not  at  all  superior  to  that  of  Vanity  Fair  is 
not  unknown  to  our  experience ;  and,  unless  truth-telling 
be  satire;  unless  the  most  tragically  real  portraiture  be 

238 


GEORGE    WILLIAM    CURTIS 

satire ;  unless  scalding  tears  of  sorrow,  and  the  bitter  re- 
gret of  a  manly  mind  over  the  miserable  spectacle  of  arti- 
ficiality, wasted  powers,  misdirected  energies,  and  lost 
opportunities,  be  satirical;  we  do  not  find  satire  in  that 
sad  story.    The  reader  closes  it  with  a  grief  beyond  tears. 
It  leaves  a  vague  apprehension  in  the  mind,  as  if  we 
should  suspect  the  air  to  be  poisoned.     It  suggests  the 
terrible  thought  of  the  enfeebling  of  moral  power,  and  the 
deterioration  of  noble  character,  as  a  necessary  conse- 
quence of  contact  with  "society."   Every  man  looks  sud- 
denly and  sharply  around  him,  and  accosts  himself  and 
his  neighbors,  to  ascertain  if  they  are  all  parties  to  this 
corruption.   Sentimental  youths  and  maidens,  upon  velvet 
sofas,  or  in  calf-bound  libraries,  resolve  that  it  is  an  in- 
sult to  human  nature — are  sure  that  their  velvet  and  calf- 
bound  friends  are  not  like  the  dramatis  personce  of  Van- 
ity Fair,  and  that  the  drama  is  therefore  hideous  and 
unreal.    They  should  remember,  what  they  uniformly 
and  universally  forget,  that  we  are  not  invited,  upon  the 
rising  of  the  curtain,  to  behold  a  cosmorama,  or  picture 
of  the.  world,  but  a  representation  of  that  part  of  it  called 
Vanity  Fair.    What  its  just  limits  are — how  far  its  poi- 
sonous purlieus  reach — how  much  of  the  world's  air  is 
tainted  by  it,  is  a  question  which  every  thoughtful  man 
will  ask  himself,  with  a  shudder,  and  look  sadly  around, 
to  answer.   If  the  sentimental  objectors  rally  again  to  the 
charge,  and  declare  that,  if  we  wish  to  improve  the  world, 
its  virtuous  ambition  must  be  piqued  and  stimulated  by 
making  the  shining  heights  of  "the  ideal"  more  radiant ; 
we  reply,  that  none  shall  surpass  us  in  honoring  the  men 
whose  creations  of  beauty  inspire  and  instruct  mankind. 
But  if  they  benefit  the  world,  it  is  no  less  true  that  a  vivid 
apprehension  of  the  depths  into  which  we  are  sunken  or 
may  sink,  nerves  the  soul's  courage  quite  as  much  as  the 

239 


OUR    BEST    SOCIETY 

alluring  mirage  of  the  happy  heights  we  may  attain.  "To 
hold  the  mirror  up  to  Nature,"  is  still  the  most  potent 
method  of  shaming  sin  and  strengthening  virtue. 

If  Vanity  Fair  be  a  satire,  what  novel  of  society  is 
not?  Are  Vivian  Grey,  and  Pelham,  and  the  long 
catalogue  pi  books  illustrating  English,  or  the  host  of 
Balzacs,  Sands,  Sues,  and  Dumas,  that  paint  French  so- 
ciety, less  satires?  Nay,  if  you  should  catch  any  dandy 
in  Broadway,  or  in  Pali-Mall,  or  upon  the  Boulevards, 
this  very  morning,  and  write  a  coldly  true  history  of  his 
life  and  actions,  his  doings  and  undoings,  would  it  not 
be  the  most  scathing  and  tremendous  satire? — if  by  satire 
you  mean  the  consuming  melancholy  of  the  conviction 
that  the  life  of  that  pendant  to  a  mustache  is  an  insult  to 
the  possible  life  of  a  man. 

We  have  read  of  a  hypocrisy  so  thorough,  that  it  was 
surprised  you  should  think  it  hypocritical :  and  we  have 
bitterly  thought  of  the  saying,  when  hearing  one  mother 
say  of  another  mother's  child,  that  she  had  "made  a  good 
match,"  because  the  girl  was  betrothed  to  a  stupid  boy 
whose  father  was  rich.  The  remark  was  the  key  of  our 
social  feeling. 

Let  us  look  at  it  a  little,  and,  first  of  all,  let  the  reader 
consider  the  criticism,  and  not  the  critic.  We  may  like 
very  well,  in  our  individual  capacity,  to  partake  of  the 
delicacies  prepared  by  our  hostess's  chef,  we  may  not  be 
averse  to  pate  and  myriad  objets  de  goilt,  and  if  you 
caught  us  in  a  corner  at  the  next  ball,  putting  away  a  fair 
share  of  dinde  aux  triiifes,  we  know  you  would  have  at 
us  in  a  tone  of  great  moral  indignation,  and  wish  to  know 
why  we  sneaked  into  great  houses,  eating  good  suppers, 
and  drinking  choice  wines,  and  then  went  away  with  an 
indigestion,  to  write  dyspeptic  disgusts  at  society. 

We  might  reply  that  it  is  necessary  to  know  something 

240 


GEORGE    WILLIAM    CURTIS 

of  a  subject  before  writing-  about  it,  and  that  if  a  man 
wished  to  describe  the  habits  of  South  Sea  Islanders,  it 
is  useless  to  g-o  to  Greenland ;  we  might  also  confess  a 
partiality  for  pate,  and  a  tenderness  for  truffes,  and  ac- 
knowledge that,  considering  our  single  absence  would  not 
put  down  extravagant,  pompous  parties,  we  were  not 
strong  enough  to  let  the  morsels  drop  into  unappreciat- 
ing  mouths ;  or  we  might  say,  that  if  a  man  invited  us  to 
see  his  new  house,  it  would  not  be  ungracious  nor  insult- 
ing to  his  hospitality,  to  point  out  whatever  weak  parts 
we  might  detect  in  it,  nor  to  declare  our  candid  conviction, 
that  it  was  built  upon  wrong  principles  and  could  not 
stand.  He  might  believe  us,  if  we  had  been  in  the  house, 
but  he  certainly  would  not,  if  we  had  never  seen  it.  Nor 
would  it  be  a  very  wise  reply  upon  his  part,  that  we  might 
build  a  better  if  we  didn't  like  that.  We  are  not  fond  of 
David's  pictures,  but  we  certainly  could  never  paint  half 
so  well ;  nor  of  Pope's  poetry,  but  posterity  will  never  hear 
of  our  verses.  Criticism,  is  not  construction,  it  is  obser- 
vation. If  we  could  surpass  in  its  own  way  everything 
which  displeased  us,  we  should  make  short  work  of  it, 
and!  instead  of  showing  what  fatal  blemishes  deform  our 
presen"^  society,  we  should  present  a  specimen  of  perfec- 
tion, directly. 

We  went  to  the  brilliant  ball.  There  was  too  much  of 
everything.  Too  much  light,  and  eating,  and  drinking, 
and  dancing,  and  flirting,  and  dressing,  and  feigning,  and 
smirking,  and  much  too  many  people.  Good  taste  insists 
first  upon  fitness.  But  why  had  Mrs.  Potiphar  given  this 
ball?  We  inquired  industriously,  and  learned  it  was  be- 
cause she  did  not  give  one  last  year.  Is  it  then  essential  to 
do  this  thing  biennially?  inquired  we  with  some  trepida- 
tion. "Certainly,"  was  the  bland  reply,  "or  society  will 
forget  you."  Everybody  was  unhappy  at  Mrs.  Potiphar's, 

241 


•     OUR   BEST   SOCIETY 

save  a  few  girls  and  boys,  who  danced  violently  all  the 
evening.  Those  who  did  not  dance  walked  up  and  down 
the  rooms  as  well  as  they  could,  squeezing  by  non-dancing 
ladies,  causing  them  to  swear  in  their  hearts  as  the 
brusque  broadcloth  carried  away  the  light  outworks  of 
gauze  and  gossamer.  The  dowagers,  ranged  in  solid  pha- 
lanx, occupied  all  the  chairs  and  sofas  against  the  wall, 
and  fanned  themselves  until  supper-time,  looking  at  each 
other's  diamonds,  and  criticizing  the  toilettes  of  the 
younger  ladies,  each  narrowly  watching  her  peculiar  Polly 
Jane,  that  she  did  not  betray  too  much  interest  in  any  man 
who  was  not  of  a  certain  fortune. — It  is  the  cold,  vulgar 
truth,  madam,  nor  are  we  in  the  slightest  degree  exag- 
gerating.— Elderly  gentlemen,  twisting  single  gloves  in  a 
very  wretched  manner,  came  up  and  bowed  to  the  dow- 
agers, and  smirked,  and  said  it  Was  a  pleasant  party,  and 
a  handsome  house,  and  then  clutched  their  hands  behind 
them,  and  walked  miserably  away,  looking  as  affable  as 
possible.  And  the  dowagers  made  a  little  fun  of  the 
elderly  gentlemen,  among  themselves,  as  they  walked 
away. 

Then  came  the  younger  non-dancing  men — a  class  of 
the  community  who  wear  black  cravats  and  waistcoats, 
and  thrust  their  thumbs  and  forefingers  in  their  waistcoat- 
pockets,  and  are  called  "talking  men."  Some  of  them  are 
literary,  and  affect  the  philosopher;  have,  perhaps,  writ- 
ten a  book  or  two,  and  are  a  small  species  of  lion  to  very 
young  ladies.  Some  are  of  the  blase  kind ;  men  who  affect 
the  extremest  elegance,  and  are  reputed  "so  aristocratic," 
and  who  care  for  nothing  in  particular,  but  wish  they  had 
not  been  born  gentlemen,  in  which  case  they  might  have 
escaped  ennui.  These  gentlemen  stand  with  hat  in  hand, 
and  their  coats  and  trousers  are  unexceptionable.  They 
are  the  "so  gentlemanly"  persons  of  whom  one  hears  a 

242 


GEORGE    WILLIAM    CURTIS 

great  deal,  but  which  seems  to  mean  nothing  but  cleanli- 
ness. Vivian  Grey  and  Pelham  are  the  models  of  their 
ambition,  and  they  succeed  in  being  Pendennis.  They  en- 
joy the  reputation  of  being  "very  clever,"  and  "very  tal- 
ented fellows,"  and  "smart  chaps" ;  but  they  refrain  from 
proving  what  is  so  generously  conceded.  They  are  often 
men  of  a  certain  cultivation.  They  have  traveled,  many 
of  them — spending  a  year  or  two  in  Paris,  and  a  month 
or  two  in  the  rest  of  Europe.  Consequently  they  endure 
society  at  home,  with  a  smile,  and  a  shrug,  and  a  graceful 
superciliousness,  which  is  very  engaging.  They  are  per- 
fectly at  home,  and  they  rather  despise  Young  America, 
which,  in  the  next  room,  Is  diligently  earning  its  invita- 
tion. They  prefer  to  hover  about  the  ladies  who  did  not 
come  out  this  season,  but  are  a  little  used  to  the  world, 
with  whom  they  are  upon  most  friendly  terms,  and  they 
criticize  together,  very  freely,  all  the  great  events  in  the 
great  world  of  fashion. 

These  elegant  Pendennises  we  saw  at  Mrs.  Potiphar's, 
but  not  without  a  sadness  which  can  hardly  be  expilained. 
They  had  been  boys  once,  all  of  them,  fresh  and  frank- 
hearted,  and  full  of  a  noble  ambition.  They  had  read  and 
pondered  the  histories  of  great  men ;  how  they  resolved, 
and  struggled,  and  achieved.  In  the  pure  portraiture  of 
genius,  they  had  loved  and  honored  noble  women,  and 
each  young  heart  was  sworn  to  truth  and  the  service  of 
beauty.  Those  feelings  were  chivalric  and  fair.  Those 
boyish  instincts  clung  to  whatever  was  lovely,  and  re- 
jected the  specious  snare,  however  graceful  and  elegant. 
They  sailed,  new  knights,  upon  that  old  and  endless  cru- 
sade against  hypocrisy  and  the  devil,  and  they  were  lost 
in  the  luxury  of  Corinth,  nor  longer  seek  the  difficult 
shores  beyond.  A  present  smile  was  worth  a  future 
laurel.     The  ease  of  the  moment  was  worth  immortal 

243 


OUR    BEST    SOCIETY 

tranquillity.  They  renounced  the  stem  worship  of  the  un- 
known God,  and  acknowledged  the  deities  of  Athens. 
But  the  seal  of  their  shame  is  their  own  smile  at  their 
early  dreams,  and  the  high  hopes  of  their  boyhood,  their 
sneering  infidelity  of  simplicity,  their  skepticism  of  mo- 
tives and  of  men.  Youths,  whose  younger  years  were 
fervid  with  the  resolution  to  strike  and  win,  to  deserve, 
at  least,  a  gentle  remembrance,  if  not  a  dazzling  fame,  are 
content  to  eat,  and  drink,  and  sleep  well;  to  go  to  the 
opera  and  all  the  balls;  to  be  known  as  "gentlemanly," 
and  "aristocratic,"  and  "dangerous,"  and  "elegant";  to 
cherish  a  luxurious  and  enervating  indolence,  and  to  "suc- 
ceed," upon  the  cheap  reputation  of  having  been  "fast" 
in  Paris.  The  end  of  such  men  is  evident  enough  from 
the  beginning.  They  are  snuffed  out  by  a  "great  match," 
and  become  an  appendage  to  a  rich  woman;  or  they 
dwindle  off  into  old  roues,  men  of  the  world  in  sad  ear- 
nest, and  not  with  elegant  affectation,  blase;  and  as  they 
began  Arthur  Pendennises,  so  they  end  the  Major.  But, 
believe  it,  that  old  fossil  heart  is  wrung  sometimes  by  a 
mortal  pang,  as  it  remembers  those  squandered  opportu- 
nities and  that  lost  life. 

From  these  groups  we  passed  into  the  dancing-room. 
We  have  seen  dancing  in  other  countries,  and  dressing. 
We  have  certainly  never  seen  gentlemen  dance  so  easily, 
gracefully,  and  well,  as  the  American.  But  the  style  of 
dancing,  in  its  whirl,  its  rush,  its  fury,  is  only  equaled  by 
that  of  the  masked  balls  at  the  French  opera,  and  the  balls 
at  the  Salle  Valentino,  the  Jardin  Mahille,  the  Chateau 
Rouge,  and  other  favorite  resorts  of  Parisian  grisettes  and 
lorettes.  We  saw  a  few  young  men  looking  upon  the 
dance  very  soberly,  and,  upon  inquiry,  learned  that  they 
were  engaged  to  certain  ladies  of  the  corps-de-ballet.  Nor 
did  we  wonder  that  the  spectacle  of  a  young  woman 

244 


GEORGE    WILLIAM    CURTIS 

whirling  in  a  decollete  state,  and  in  the  embrace  of  a 
warm  youth,  around  a  heated  room,  induced  a  Httle  so- 
briety upon  her  lover's  face,  if  not  a  sadness  in  his  heart. 
Amusement,  recreation,  enjoyment!  There  are  no  more 
beautiful  things.  But  this  proceeding  falls  under  another 
head.  We  watched  the  various  toilettes  of  these  bounding 
belles.  They  were  rich  and  tasteful.  But  a  man  at  our 
elbow,  of  experience  and  shrewd  observation,  said,  with 
a  sneer,  for  which  we  called  him  to  account,  *T  observe 
that  American  ladies  are  so  rich  in  charms  that  they  are 
not  at  all  chary  of  them.  It  is  certainly  generous  to  us 
miserable  black  coats.  But,  do  you  know,  it  strikes  me 
as  a  generosity  of  display  that  must  necessarily  leave  the 
donor  poorer  in  maidenly  feeling,"  We  thought  our- 
selves cynical,  but  this  was  intolerable;  and  in  a  very 
crisp  manner  we  demanded  an  apology. 

"Why,"  responded  our  friend  with  more  of  sadness 
than  of  satire  in  his  tone,  "why  are  you  sO'  exasperated? 
Look  at  this  scene!  Consider  that  this  is,  really,  the  life 
of  these  girls.  This  is  what  they  'come  out'  for.  This 
is  the  end  of  their  ambition.  They  think  of  it,  dream  of 
it,  long  for  it.  Is  it  amusement  ?  Yes,  to  a  few,  possibly. 
But  listen  and  gather,  if  you  can,  from  their  remarks 
(when  they  make  any),  that  they  have  any  thought  be- 
yond this,  and  going  to  church  very  rigidly  on  Sunday. 
The  vigor  of  polkaing  and  church-going  are  propor- 
tioned ;  as  is  the  one  so  is  the  other.  My  young  friend,  I 
am  no  ascetic,  and  do  not  suppose  a  man  is  damned  be- 
cause he  dances.  But  life  is  not  a  ball  (more's  the  pity, 
truly,  for  these  butterflies), nor  is  its  sole  duty  and  delight 
dancing.  When  I  consider  this  spectacle — when  I  remem- 
ber what  a  noble  and  beautiful  woman  is,  what  a  manly 
man, — when  I  reel,  dazzled  by  this  glare,  drunken  by  these 
perfumes,  confused  by  this  alluring  music,  and  reflect 

245 


OUR    BEST    SOCIETY 

upon  the  enormous  sums  wasted  in  a  pompous  profusion 
that  dehghts  no  one — when  I  look  around  upon  all  this 
rampant  vulgarity  in  tinsel  and  Brussels  lace,  and  think 
how  fortunes  go,  how  men  struggle  and  lose  the  bloom 
of  their  honesty,  how  women  hide  in  a  smiling  pretense, 
and  eye  with  caustic  glances  their  neighbor's  newer 
house,  diamonds  or  porcelain,  and  observe  their  daugh- 
ters, such  as  these — why,  I  tremble,  and  tremble,  and  this 
scene  to-night,  every  'crack'  ball  this  winter,  will  be,  not 
the  pleasant  society  of  men  and  women,  but — even  in  this 
young  country — an  orgie  such  as  rotting  Corinth  saw,  a 
frenzied  festival  of  Rome  in  its  decadence." 

There  was  a  sober  truth  in  this  bitterness,  and  we 
turned  away  to  escape  the  sombre  thought  of  the  moment. 
Addressing  one  of  the  panting  houris  who  stood  melting 
in  a  window,  we  spoke  (and  confess  how  absurdly)  of 
the  Diisseldorf  Gallery.  It  was  merely  to  avoid  saying 
how  warm  the  room  was,  and  how  pleasant  the  party 
was,  facts  upon  which  we  had  already  enlarged.  "Yes, 
they  are  pretty  pictures;  but  la!  how  long  it  must  have 
taken  Mr.  Diisseldorf  to  paint  them  all ;"  was  the  reply. 

By  the  Farnesian  Hercules!  no  Roman  sylph  in  her 
city's  decline  would  ever  have  called  the  sun-god,  Mr. 
Apollo.  We  hope  that  houri  melted  entirely  away  in  the 
window;  but  we  certainly  did  not  stay  to  see. 

Passing  out  toward  the  supper-room  we  encountered 
two  young  men.  "What,  Hal,"  said  one,  "yoii  at  Mrs. 
Potiphar's?"  It  seems  that  Hal  was  a  sprig  of  one  of  the 
"old  families."  "Well,  Joe,"  said  Hal,  a  little  confused, 
"it  is  a  little  strange.  The  fact  is  I  didn't  mean  to  be  here, 
but  I  concluded  to  compromise  by  coming,  and  not  being 
introduced  to  the  host."  Hal  could  come,  eat  Potiphar's 
supper,  drink  his  wines,  spoil  his  carpets,  laugh  at  his 
fashionable  struggles,  and  affect  the  puppyism  of  a  for- 

246 


GEORGE    WILLIAM    CURTIS 

eign  lord,  because  he  disgraced  the  name  of  a  man  who 
had  done  some  service  somewhere,  while  Potiphar  was 
only  an  honest  man  who  made  a  fortune. 

The  supper-room  was  a  pleasant  place.    The  table  was 
covered  with  a  chaos  of  supper.     Everything  sweet  and 
rare,  and  hot  and  cold,  solid  and  liquid,  was  there.     It 
was  the  very  apotheosis  of  gilt  gingerbread.    There  was 
a  universal  rush  and  struggle.    The  charge  of  the  guards 
at  Waterloo  was  nothing  to  it.     Jellies,  custard,  oyster- 
soup,  ice-cream,  w^ine  and  water,  gushed  in  profuse  cas- 
cades over  transparent  precipices  of  tulle,  muslin,  gauze, 
silk   and   satin.      Clumsy  boys   tumbled   against   costly 
dresses  and  smeared  them  with  preserves;  when  clean 
plates  failed,  the  contents  of  plates  already  used  were 
quietly  "chucked"  under  the  table — heel-taps  of  cham- 
pagne were  poured  into  the  oyster  tureens  or  overflowed 
upon  plates  to  clear  the  glasses — wine  of  all  kinds  flowed 
in  torrents,  particularly  down  the  throats  of  very  young 
men,  who  evinced  their  manhood  by  becoming  noisy, 
troublesome,  and  disgusting,  and  were  finally  either  led, 
sick,  into  the  hat  room,  or  carried  out  of  the  way,  drunk. 
The  supper  over,  the  young  people,  attended  by  their 
matrons,  descended  to  the  dancing- room  for  the  "Ger- 
man."   This  is  a  dance  commencing  usually  at  midnight 
or  a  little  after,  and  continuing  indefinitely  toward  day- 
break.    The  young  people  were  attended  by  their  ma- 
trons, who  were  there  tO'  supervise  the  morals  and  man- 
ners of  their  charges.    To  secure  the  performance  of  this 
duty,  the  young  people  took  good  care  to  sit  where  the 
matrons  could  not  see  them,  nor  did  they,  by  any  chance, 
look  toward  the  quarter  in  which  the  matrons  sat.     In 
that  quarter,  through  all  the  varying  mazes  of  the  pro- 
longed dance,  to  two  o'clock,  to  three,  tO'  four,  sat  the 
bediamonded    dowagers,    the   mothers,    the    matrons — 

247 


OUR    BEST    SOCIETY 

against  nature,  against  common  sense.  They  babbled 
with  each  other,  they  drowsed,  they  dozed.  Their  fans 
fell  listless  into  their  laps.  In  the  adjoining-  room,  out 
of  the  waking  sight,  even,  of  the  then  sleeping  mamas, 
the  daughters  whirled  in  the  close  embrace  of  partners 
who  had  brought  down  bottles  of  champagne  from  the 
supper-room,  and  put  them  by  the  side  of  their  chairs  for 
occasional  refreshment  during  the  dance.  The  dizzy 
hours  staggered  by — "Azalia,  you  must  come  now,"  had 
been  already  said  a  dozen  times,  but  only  as  by  the  scribes. 
Finally  it  was  declared  with  authority.  Azalia  went — 
Amelia — Arabella.  The  rest  followed.  There  was  pro- 
longed cloaking,  there  were  lingering  farewells.  A  few 
papas  were  in  the  supper-room,  sitting  among  the  debris 
of  game.  A  few  young  non-dancing  husbands  sat  be- 
neath gas  unnaturally  bright,  reading  whatever  chance 
book  was  at  hand,  and  thinking  of  the  young  child  at 
home  waiting  for  mama  who  was  dancing  the  "Ger- 
man" below.  A  few  exhausted  matrons  sat  in  the  robing- 
room,  tired,  sad,  wishing  Jane  would  come  up;  assailed 
at  intervals  by  a  vague  suspicion  that  it  was  not  quite 
worth  while;  wondering  how  it  was  they  used  to  have 
such  good  times  at  balls;  yawning,  and  looking  at  their 
watches ;  while  the  regular  beat  of  the  music  below,  with 
sardonic  sadness,  continued.  At  last  Jane  came  up,  had 
had  the  most  glorious  time,  and  went  down  with  mamma 
to  the  carriage,  and  so  drove  home.  Even  the  last  Jane 
went — the  last  noisy  youth  was  expelled — and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Potiphar,  having  duly  performed  their  biennial  so- 
cial duty,  dismissed  the  music,  ordered  the  servants  to 
count  the  spoons,  and  an  hour  or  two  after  daylight  went 
to  bed.    Enviable  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Potiphar ! 

We  are  now  prepared  for  the  great  moral  indignation 
of  the  friend  who  saw  us  eating  our  dinde  aux  truffcs  in 

248 


GEORGE    WILLIAM    CURTIS 

that  remarkable  supper-room.  We  are  waiting  to  hear 
him  say  in  the  most  moderate  and  "gentlemanly"  man- 
ner, that  it  is  all  veiy  well  to  select  flaws  and  present  them 
as  specimens,  and  to  learn  from  him,  possibly  with  in- 
dignant publicity,  that  the  present  condition  of  parties  is 
not  what  we  have  intimated.  Or,  in  his  quiet  and  pointed 
way,  he  may  smile  at  our  fiery  assault  upon  edged 
flounces,  and  nuga  pyramids,  and  the  kingdom  of  Lilliput 
in  general. 

Yet,  after  aJl,  and  despite  the  youths  who  are  led 
out,  and  carried  home,  or  who  stumble  through  the  "Ger- 
man," this  is  a  sober  matter.  My  friend  told  us  we 
should  see  the  "best  society."  But  he  is  a  prodigious 
wag.  WhO'  make  this  country  ?  From  whom  is  its  char- 
acter of  unparalleled  enterprise,  heroism,  and  success  de- 
rived? Who  have  given  it  its  place  in  the  respect  and 
the  fear  of  the  world?  Who,  annually,  recruit  its  ener- 
gies, confirm  its  progress,  and  secure  its  triumph?  Who 
are  its  characteristic  children,  the  pith,  the  sinew,  the 
bone,  of  its  prosperity?  Who  found,  and  direct,  and  con- 
tinue its  manifold  institutions  of  mercy  and  education? 
Who  are,  essentially,  Americans?  Indignant  friend, 
these  classes,  whoever  they  may  be,  are  the  "best  society," 
because  they  alone  are  the  representatives  of  its  character 
and  cultivation.  They  are  the  "best  society"  of  New 
York,  of  Boston,  of  Baltimore,  of  St.  Louis,  of  New  Or- 
leans, whether  they  live  upon  six  hundred  or  sixty  thou- 
sand dollars  a  year — whether  they  inhabit  princely  houses 
in  fashionable  streets  (which  they  often  do),  or  not — 
whether  their  sons  have  graduated  at  Celarius's  and  the 
Jardin  Mahille,  or  have  never  been  out  of  their  father's 
shops — whether  they  have  "air"  and  "style,"  and  are  "so 
gentlemanly"  and  "so  aristocratic,"  or  not.  Your  shoe- 
maker, your  lawyer,  your  butcher,  your  clergyman — if 

249 


OUR   BEST    SOCIETY 

they  are  simple  and  steady,  and,  whether  rich  or  poor,  are 
unseduced  by  the  sirens  of  extravagance  and  ruinous  dis- 
play, help  make  up  the  "best  society."  For  that  mystic 
communion  is  not  composed  of  the  rich,  but  of  the 
worthy;  and  is  "best"  by  its  virtues,  and  not  by  its  vices. 
When  Johnson,  Burke,  Goldsmith,  Garrick,  Reynolds, 
and  their  friends,  met  at  supper  in  Goldsmith's  rooms, 
where  was  the  "best  society"  in  England?  When  George 
the  Fourth  outraged  humanity  in  his  treatment  of  Queen 
Caroline,  who  was  the  first  scoundrel  in  Europe? 

Pause  yet  a  moment,  indignant  friend.  Whose  habits 
and  principles  would  ruin  this  country  as  rapidly  as  it  has 
been  made?  Who  are  enamored  of  a  puerile  imitation 
of  foreign  splendors?  Who  strenuously  endeavor  to 
graft  the  questionable  points  of  Parisian  society  upon  our 
own?  Who  pass  a  few  years  in  Europe  and  return  skep- 
tical of  republicanism  and  human  improvement,  longing 
and  sighing  for  more  sharply  emphasized  social  distinc- 
tions? Who  squander,  with  profuse  recklessness,  the 
hard-earned  fortunes  of  their  sires  ?  Who  diligently  de- 
vote their  time  to  nothing,  foolishly  and  wrongly  suppos- 
ing that  a  young  English  nobleman  has  nothing  to  do? 
Who,  in  fine,  evince  by  their  collective  conduct,  that  they 
regard  their  Americanism  as  a  misfortune,  and  are  so  the 
most  deadly  enemies  of  their  country?  None  but  what 
our  wag  facetiously  termed  "the  best  society." 

If  the  reader  doubts,  let  him  consider  its  practical  re- 
sults in  any  great  emporiums  of  "best  society."  Marriage 
is  there  regarded  as  a  luxury,  toO'  expensive  for  any  but 
the  sons  of  rich  men,  or  fortunate  young  men.  We  once 
heard  an  eminent  divine  assert,  and  only  half  in  sport, 
that  the  rate  of  living  was  advancing  so  incredibly,  that 
weddings  in  his  experience  were  perceptibly  diminishing. 
The  reasons  might  have  been  many  and  various.    But  we 

250 


GEORGE   WILLIAM    CURTIS 

all  acknowledge  the  fact.  On  the  other  hand,  and  about 
the  same  time,  a  lovely  damsel  (ah!  Clorinda!)  whose 
father  was  not  wealthy,  who  had  no  prospective  means  of 
support,  who  could  do  nothing  but  polka  to  perfection, 
who  literally  knew  almost  nothing,  and  who  constantly 
shocked  every  fairly  intelligent  person  by  the  glaring  ig- 
norance betrayed  in  her  remarks,  informed  a  friend  at  one 
of  the  Saratoga  balls,  whither  he  had  made  haste  to  meet 
"the  best  society,"  that  there  were  "not  more  than  three 
good  matches  in  society."  La  Dame  aiix  Camelias,  Marie 
Duplessis,  was  to  our  fancy  a  much  more  feminine,  and 
admirable,  and  moral,  and  human  person,  than  the  adored 
Clorinda.  And  yet  what  she  said  was  the  legitimate  re- 
sult of  the  state  of  our  fashionable  society.  It  worships 
wealth,  and  the  pomp  which  wealth  can  purchase,  more 
than  virtue,  genius  or  beauty.  We  may  be  told  that  it 
has  always  been  so  in  every  country,  and  that  the  fine 
society  of  all  lands  is  as  profuse  and  flashy  as  our  own. 
We  deny  it,  flatly.  Neither  English,  nor  Frencli,  nor 
Italian,  nor  German  society,  is  so  unspeakably  barren  as 
that  which  is  technically  called  "society"  here.  In  Lon- 
don, and  Paris,  and  Vienna,  and  Rome,  all  the  really  emi- 
nent men  and  women  help  make  up  the  mass  of  society. 
A  party  is  not  a  mere  ball,  but  it  is  a  congress  of  the  wit, 
beauty,  and  fame  of  the  capital.  It  is  worth  while  to 
dress,  if  you  shall  meet  Macaulay,  or  Hallam,  or  Guizot, 
or  Thiers,  or  Landseer,  or  Delaroche — Mrs.  Norton,  the 
Misses  Berry,  Madame  Recamier,  and  all  the  brilliant 
women  and  famous  foreigners.  But  why  should  we  de- 
sert the  pleasant  pages  of  those  men,  and  the  recorded 
gossip  of  those  women,  to  be  squeezed  flat  against  a  wall, 
while  young  Doughface  pours  oyster-gravy  down  our 
shirt-front,  and  Caroline  Pettitoes  wonders  at  "Mr.  Diis- 
seldorf's"  industry? 

251 


OUR    BEST    SOCIETY 

If  intelligent  people  decline  to  go,  you  justly  remark, 
it  is  their  own  fault.  Yes,  but  if  they  stay  away,  it  is 
very  certainly  their  great  gain.  The  elderly  people  are 
always  neglected  with  us,  and  nothing  surprises  intelli- 
gent strangers  more  than  the  tyrannical  supremacy  of 
Young  America.  But  we  are  not  surprised  at  this  neg- 
lect. How  can  we  be,  if  we  have  our  eyes  open?  When 
Caroline  Pettitoes  retreats  from  the  floor  to  the  sofa,  and, 
instead  of  a  "polker,"  figures  at  parties  as  a  matron,  do 
you  suppose  that  "tough  old  Joes"  like  ourselves  are  go- 
ing to  desert  the  young  Caroline  upon  the  floor,  for  Ma- 
dame Pettitoes  upon  the  sofa?  If  the  pretty  young  Caro- 
line, with  youth,  health,  freshness,  a  fine,  budding  form, 
and  wreathed  in  a  semi-transparent  haze  of  flounced  and 
flowered  gauze,  is  so  vapid  that  we  prefer  to  accost  her 
with  our  eyes  alone,  and  not  with  our  tongues,  is  the  same 
Caroline  married  into  a  Madame  Pettitoes,  and  fanning 
herself  upon  a  sofa — no  longer  particularly  fresh,  nor 
young,  nor  pretty,  and  no  longer  budding,  but  very  fully 
blown — likely  to  be  fascinating  in  conversation  ?  We  can 
not  wonder  that  the  whole  connection  of  Pettitoes,  when 
advanced  to  the  matron  state,  is  entirely  neglected. 
Proper  homage  tO'  age  we  can  all  pay  at  home,  to  our  par- 
ents and  grandparents.  Proper  respect  for  some  persons 
is  best  preserved  by  avoiding  their  neighborhood. 

And  what,  think  you,  is  the  influence  of  this  extrava- 
gant expense  and  senseless  show  upon  these  same  young 
men  and  women  ?  We  can  easily  discover.  It  saps  their 
noble  ambition,  assails  their  health,  lowers  their  estimate 
of  men,  and  their  reverence  for  women,  cherishes  an  eager 
and  aimless  rivalry,  wealcens  true  feeling,  wipes  away  the 
bloom  of  true  modesty,  and  induces  an  ennui,  a  satiety, 
and  a  kind  of  dillettante  misanthropy,  which  is  only  the 
more  monstrous  because  it  is  undoubtedly  real.    You  shall 

252 


GEORGE    WILLIAM    CURTIS 

hear  young  men  of  intelligence  and  cultivation,  to  whom 
the  unprecedented  circumstances  of  this  country  offer  op- 
portunities of  a  great  and  beneficent  career,  complaining 
that  they  were  born  within  this  blighted  circle;  regretting 
that  they  were  not  bakers  and  tallow-chandlers,  and  un- 
der no  obligation  to  keep  up  appearances ;  deliberately 
surrendering  all  the  golden  possibilities  of  that  future 
which  this  country,  beyond  all  others,  holds  before  them ; 
sighing  that  they  are  not  rich  enough  to  marry  the  girls 
they  love,  and  bitterly  upbraiding  fortune  that  they  are 
not  millionaires ;  suffering  the  vigor  of  their  years  to  ex- 
hale in  idle  wishes  and  pointless  regrets ;  disgracing  their 
manhood  by  lying  in  wait  behind  their  "so  gentlemanly" 
and  "aristocratic"  manners,  until  they  can  pounce  upon 
a  "fortune"  and  ensnare  an  heiress  into  matrimony :  and 
so,  having  dragged  their  gifts — their  horses  of  the  sun — 
into  a  service  which  shames  all  their  native  pride  and 
power,  they  sink  in  the  mire;  and  their  peers  and  emu- 
lators exclaim  that  they  have  "made  a  good  thing  of  it." 
Are  these  the  processes  by  which  a  noble  race  is  made 
and  perpetuated?  At  Mrs,  Potiphar's  we  heard  several 
Pendennises  longing  for  a  similar  luxury,  and  announc- 
ing their  firm  purpose  never  to  have  wives  nor  houses  un- 
trl  they  could  have  them  as  splendid  as  jewelled  Mrs. 
Potiphar,  and  her  palace,  thirty  feet  front.  Where  were 
their  heads,  and  their  hearts,  and  their  arms  ?  How  looks 
this  craven  despondency,  before  the  stern  virtues  of  the 
ages  we  call  dark  ?  When  a  man  is  so^  voluntarily  imbe- 
cile as  to  regret  he  is  not  rich,  if  that  is  what  he  wants, 
before  he  has  struck  a  blow  for  wealth ;  or  so  dastardly 
as  to  renounce  the  prospect  of  love,  because,  sitting  sigh- 
ing, in  velvet  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  he  does  not  see 
his  way  clear  to  ten  thousand  a  year :  when  young  women 
coiffed  a  merveille,  of  unexceptionable  "style,"  who,  with 

253 


OUR   BEST    SOCIETY 

or  without  a  prospective  penny,  secretly  look  down  upon 
honest  women  who  struggle  for  a  livelihood,  like  noble 
and  Christian  beings,  and,  as  such,  are  rewarded;  in 
whose  society  a  man  must  forget  that  he  has  ever  read, 
thought,  or  felt;  who  destroy  in  the  mind  the  fair  ideal 
of  woman,  which  the  genius  of  art,  and  poetry,  and  love, 
their  inspirer  has  created ;  then,  it  seems  to  us,  it  is  high 
time  that  the  subject  should  be  regarded,  not  as  a  matter 
of  breaking  butterflies  upon  the  wheel,  but  as  a  sad  and 
sober  question,  in  whose  solution,  all  fathers  and  moth- 
ers, and  the  state  itself,  are  interested.  When  keen  ob- 
servers, and  men  of  the  world,  from  Europe,  are  amazed 
and  appalled  at  the  giddy  whirl  and  frenzied  rush  of  our 
society — a  society  singular  in  history  for  the  exaggerated 
prominence  it  assigns  to  wealth,  irrespective  of  the  talents 
that  amassed  it,  they  and  their  possessor  being  usually 
hustled  out  of  sight — is  it  not  quite  time  to  ponder  a  little 
upon  the  Court  of  Louis  XIV,  and  the  "merrie  days"  of 
King  Charles  II?  Is  it  not  clear  that,  if  what  our  good 
wag,  with  caustic  irony,  called  "best  society,"  were  really 
such,  every  thoughtful  man  would  read  upon  Mrs.  Poti- 
phar's  softly-tinted  walls  the  terrible  "mene,  mene"  of  an 
imminent  destruction  ? 

Venice  in  her  pui-ple  prime  of  luxury,  when  the  famous 
law  was  passed  making  all  gondolas  black,  that  the  nobles 
should  not  squander  fortunes  upon  them,  was  not  more 
luxurious  than  New  York  to-day.  Our  hotels  have  a  su- 
perficial splendor,  derived  from  a  profusion  of  gilt  and 
paint,  wood  and  damask.  Yet,  in  not  one  of  them  can  the 
traveler  be  so  quietly  comfortable  as  in  an  English  inn, 
and  nowhere  in  New  York  can  the  stranger  procure  a 
dinner,  at  once  so  neat  and  elegant,  and  economical,  as  at 
scores  of  cafes  in  Paris.  The  fever  of  display  has  con- 
sumed comfort.     A  gondola  plated  with  gold  was  no 

254 


GEORGE    WILLIAM    CURTIS 

easier  than  a  black  wooden  one.  We  could  well  spare  a 
little  gilt  upon  the  walls,  for  more  cleanliness  upon  the 
public  table;  nor  is  it  worth  while  to  cover  the  walls  with 
mirrors  to  reflect  a  want  of  comfort.  One  prefers  a 
wooden  bench  to  a  greasy  velvet  cushion,  and  a  sanded 
floor  to  a  soiled  and  threadbare  carpet.  An  insipid  uni- 
formity is  the  Procrustes-bed,  upon  which  "society"  is 
stretched.  Every  new  house  is  the  counterpart  of  every 
other,  with  the  exception  of  more  gilt,  if  the  owner  can 
afford  it.  The  interior  arrangement,  instead  of  being 
characteristic.  Instead  of  revealing  something  of  the  tastes 
and  feelings  of  the  owner,  is  rigorously  conformed  to 
every  other  interior.  The  same  hollow  and  tame  com- 
plaisance rules  in  the  intercourse  of  society.  Who  dares 
say  precisely  what  he  thinks  upon  a  great  topic?  What 
youth  ventures  tO'  say  sharp  things,  of  slavery,  for  in- 
stance, at  a  polite  dinner-table?  What  girl  dares  wear 
curls,  when  Martelle  prescribes  pufTs  or  bandeaux  ?  What 
specimen  of  Young  America  dares  have  his  trousers 
loose  or  wear  straps  to  them?  We  want  individuality, 
heroism,  and,  if  necessary,  an  uncompromising  persist- 
ence in  difference. 

This  is  the  present  state  of  parties.  They  are  wildly 
extravagant,  full  of  senseless  display;  they  are  avoided 
by  the  pleasant  and  intelligent,  and  swarm  with  reckless 
regiments  of  "Brown's  men."  The  ends  of  the  earth 
contribute  their  choicest  products  to  the  supper,  and  there 
is  everything  that  wealth  can  purchase,  and  all  the  spa- 
cious splendor  that  thirty  feet  front  can  afford.  They  are 
hot,  and  crowded,  and  glaring.  There  is  a  little  weak 
scandal,  venomous,  not  witty,  and  a  stream  of  weary 
platitude,  mortifying  to  every  sensible  person.  Will  any 
of  our  Pendennis  friends  intermit  their  indignation  for  a 
moment,  and  consider  how  many  good  things  they  have 

255 


OUR    BEST    SOCIETY 

said  or  heard  during  the  season?  If  Mr.  Potiphar's  eyes 
should  chance  tO'  fall  here,  will  he  reckon  the  amount  of 
satisfaction  and  enjoyment  he  derived  from  Mrs.  Poti- 
phar's ball,  and  will  that  lady  candidly  confess  what  she 
gained  from  it  beside  weariness  and  disgust  ?  What  elo- 
quent sermons  we  remember  tO'  have  heard  in  which  the 
sins  and  the  sinners  of  Babylon,  JerichO'  and  Gomorrah 
were  scathed  with  holy  indignation.  The  cloth  is  very 
hard  upon  Cain,  and  completely  routs  the  erring  kings  of 
Judah,  The  Spanish  Inquisition,  too,  gets  frightful 
knocks,  and  there  is  much  eloquent  exhortation  to  preach 
the  gospel  in  the  interior  of  Siam.  Let  it  be  preached 
there  and  God  speed  the  Word.  But  also  let  us  have  a 
text  or  twO'  in  Broadway  and  the  Avenue. 

The  best  sermon  ever  preached  upon  society,  within 
our  knowledge,  is  Vanity  Fair.  Is  the  spirit  of  that 
story  less  true  oi  New  York  than  of  London  ?  Probably 
we  never  see  Amelia  at  our  parties,  nor  Lieutenant 
George  Osborne,  nor  good  gawky  Dobbin,  nor  Mrs.  Re- 
becca Sharp  Crawley,  nor  old  Steyne.  We  are  very  much 
pained,  of  course,  that  any  author  should  take  such  dreary 
views  of  human  nature.  We,  for  our  parts,  all  go  to  Mrs. 
Potiphar's  to  refresh  our  faith  in  men  and  women.  Gen- 
erosity, amiability,  a  catholic  charity,  simplicity,  taste, 
sense,  high  cultivation,  and  intelligence,  distinguish  our 
parties.  The  statesman  seeks  their  stimulating  influence; 
the  literary  man,  after  the  day's  labor,  desires  the  repose 
of  their  elegant  conversation;  the  professional  man  and 
the  merchant  hurry  up  from  down  town  to  shuffle  off  the 
coil  of  heavy  duty,  and  forget  the  drudgery  of  life  in  the 
agreeable  picture  of  its  amenities  and  graces  presented  by 
Mrs.  Potiphar's  ball.  Is  this  account  of  the  matter,  or 
Vanity  Fair,  the  satire?  What  are  the  prospects  of 
any  society  of  which  that  tale  is  the  true  history  ? 

256 


GEORGE   WILLIAM    CURTIS 

There  is  a  picture  in  the  Lnxeinbonrg-  gallery  at  Paris, 
The  Decadence  of  the  Romans,  which  made  the  fame 
and  fortune  of  Couture,  the  painter.  It  represents  an 
orgie  in  the  court  of  a  temple,  during  the  last  days  of 
Rome.  A  swarm  of  revellers  occupy  the  middle  of  the 
picture,  wreathed  in  elaborate  intricacy  of  luxurious  pos- 
ture, men  and  women  intermingled ;  their  faces,  in  which 
the  old  Roman  fire  scarcely  flickers,  brutalized  with  ex- 
cess of  every  kind ;  their  heads  of  dishevelled  hair  bound 
with  coronals  of  leaves,  while,  from  goblets  of  an  antique 
grace,  they  drain  the  fiery  torrent  which  is  destroying 
them.  Around  the  bacchanalian  feast  stand,  lofty  upon 
pedestals,  the  statues  of  old  Rome,  looking,  with  marble 
calmness  and  the  severity  of  a  rebuke  beyond  words,  up- 
on the  revellers.  A  youth  of  boyish  grace,  with  a  wreath 
woven  in  his  tangled  hair,  and  with  red  and  drowsy  eyes, 
sits  listless  upon  one  pedestal,  while  upon  another  stands 
a  boy  insane  with  drunkenness,  and  proffering  a  dripping 
goblet  to  the  marble  mouth  of  the  statue.  In  the  corner 
of  the  picture,  as  if  just  quitting  the  court — Rome  finally 
departing — is  a  group  of  Romans  with  care-worn  brows, 
and  hands  raised  to  their  faces  in  melancholy  meditation. 
In  the  foreground  of  the  picture,  which  is  painted  with 
all  the  sumptuous  splendor  of  Venetian  art,  is  a  stately 
vase,  around  which  hangs  a  festoon  of  gorgeous  flowers, 
its  end  dragging  upon  the  pavement.  In  the  background, 
between  the  columns,  smiles  the  blue  sky  of  Italy — the 
only  thing  Italian  not  deteriorated  by  time.  The  careful 
student  of  this  picture,  if  he  have  been  long  in  Paris,  is 
some  day  startled  by  detecting,  especially  in  the  faces  of 
the  women  represented,  a  surprising  likeness  to  the 
women  of  Paris,  and  perceives,  with  a  thrill  of  dismay, 
that  the  models  for  this  picture  of  decadent  human  nature 
are  furnished  by  the  very  city  in  which  he  lives. 

257 


THE  TWO  FARMERS 

BY   CAROLYN   WELLS 

Once  on  a  Time  there  were  Two  Farmers  who  wished 
to  Sell  their  Farms. 

To  One  came  a  Buyer  who'  offered  a  Fair  Price,  but 
the  Farmer  refused  to  Sell,  saying  he  had  heard  rumors 
of  a  Railroad  which  was  to  be  Built  in  his  Vicinity,  and 
he  hoped  The  Corporation  would  buy  his  Farm  at  a 
Large  Figure. 

The  Buyer  therefore  went  Away,  and  as  the  Railroad 
never  Materialized,  the  Farmer  Sorely  Regretted  that  he 
lost  a  Good  Chance. 

The  Other  Farmer  Sold  his  Farm  to  the  First  Cus- 
tomer who  came  Along,  although  he  Received  but  a 
Small  Price  for  It.  Soon  Afterward  a  Railroad  was 
Built  right  through  the  Same  Farm,  and  The  Railroad 
Company  paid  an  Enormous  Sum  for  the  Land. 

MORALS  : 

This  Fable  teaches  that  a  Bird  In  The  Hand  is  worth 
Two  In  The  Bush,  and  The  Patient  Waiter  Is  No  Loser. 


258 


SAMUEL  BROWN 

BY    PHCEBE    GARY 

It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago. 

In  a  dwelling  down  in  town, 
That  a  fellow  there  lived  whom  you  may  know, 

By  the  name  of  Samuel  Brown ; 
And  this  fellow  he  lived  with  no  other  thought 

Than  to  our  house  to  come  down. 

I  was  a  child,  and  he  was  a  child, 

In  that  dwelling  down  in  town. 
But  we  loved  with  a  love  that  was  more  than  love, 

I  and  my  Samuel  Brown, — ■ 
iWith  a  love  that  the  ladies  coveted. 

Me  and  Samuel  Brown. 

And  this  was  the  reason  that,  long  ago, 

To  that  dwelling  down  in  town, 
A  girl  came  out  of  her  carriage,  courting 

My  beautiful  Samuel  Brown; 
So  that  her  high-bred  kinsmen  came, 

And  bore  away  Samuel  Brown, 
And  shut  him  up  in  a  dwelling  house. 

In  a  street  quite  up  in  town. 

The  ladies,  not  half  so  happy  up  there, 

Went  envying  me  and  Brown ; 
Yes!  that  was  the  reason  (as  all  men  know, 

In  this  dwelling  down  in  town), 
That  the  girl  came  out  of  the  carriage  by  night, 

Coquetting  and  getting  my  Samuel  Brown. 

259 


SAMUEL   BROWN 

But  our  love  Is  more  artful  by  far  than  the  love 

If  those  who  are  older  than  we, — 

Of  many  far  wiser  than  we, — 
And  neither  the  girls  that  are  livingf  above, 

Nor  the  girls  that  are  down  in  town, 
Can  ever  dissever  my  soul  from  the  soul 

Of  the  beautiful  Samuel  Brown. 

For  the  morn  never  shines,  without  bringing  me  lines, 

From  my  beautiful  Samuel  Brown; 
And  the  night's  never  dark,  but  I  sit  in  the  park 

With  my  beautiful  Samuel  Brown. 
And  often  by  day,  I  walk  down  in  Broadway, 
With  my  darling,  my  darling,  my  life  and  my  stay, 
I    To  our  dwelling  down  in  town, 

To  our  house  in  the  street  down  town. 


260 


THE  WAY  IT  WUZ 

BY   JAMES   WHITCOMB   RILEY 

Las'  July— an',  I  presume 

'Bout  as  hot 
As  the  ole  Gran' -Jury  room 

Where  they  sot ! — 
Fight  'twixt  Mike  an'  Dock  McGriff — 
'Pears  to  me  jes'  Hke  as  if 

I'd  a  dremp'  the  whole  blame  thing — 

Alius  ha'nts  me  roun'  the  gizzard 

When  they're  nightmares  on  the  wing, 

An'  a  feller's  blood  's  jes'  friz ! 

Seed  the  row  from  a  to  izzard — 

'Cause  I  WUZ  a-standin'  as  clost  to  'em 

As  me  an'  you  is ! 

Tell  you  the  way  it  wuz — 

An'  I  don't  want  to  see, 
Like  some  fellers  does, 

When  they're  goern  to  be 
Any  kind  o'  fuss — 
On'y  makes  a  rumpus  wuss 

Fer  to  interfere 

When  their  dander's  riz — 
But  I  WUZ  a-standin'  as  clost  to  'em 
As  me  an'  you  is ! 

I  wuz  kind  o'  strayin' 

Past  the  blame  saloon — 
Heerd  some  fiddler  playin' 

That  "pie  hee-cup  tune !" 
261 


THE   WAY   IT   WUZ 

Sort  o'  stopped,  you  know, 
Fer  a  minit  er  so, 

And  WUZ  jes'  about 
Settin'  down,  when — Jeemses  whks! 

Whole  durn  winder-sash  fell  out ! 
An'  there  laid  Dock  McGriff,  and  Mike 
A-straddlin'  him,  all  bloody-like, 

An'  both  a-gittin'  down  to  biz ! — 
An'  I  WUZ  a-standin'  as  dost  to  'em 
As  me  an'  you  is ! 

I  WUZ  the  on'y  man  aroun' — 
(Durn  old-fogy  town! 
'Peared  more  like,  to  me, 
Sund'y  'an  Saturd'y!) 
Dog  come  'crost  the  road 
An'  tuck  a  smell 
An'  put  right  back ; 
■Mishler  driv  by  'ith  a  load 

O'  cantalo'pes  he  couldn't  sell — 
Too  mad,  'y  jack ! 
To  even  ast 

What  WUZ  up,  as  he  went  past ! 
Weather  most  outrageous  hot ! — 

Fairly  hear  it  sizz 
Roun'  Dock  an'  Mike — till  Dock  he  shot, 
An'  Mike  he  slacked  that  grip  o'  his 
An'  fell,  all  spraddled  out.  Dock  riz 
'Bout  half  up,  a-spittin'  red, 
An'  shuck  his  head — 
An'  I  WUZ  a-standin'  as  clost  to  'em 
As  me  an'  you  is ! 

262 


JAMES   WHITCOMB    RILEYj 

An'  Dock  he  says, 
A-whisperin'-like, — 
**It  hain't  no  use 
A-tryin' ! — Mike 

He's  jes'  ripped  my  daylights  loose  !- 
Git  that  blame-don  fiddler  to 
Let  up,  an'  come  out  here — You 
Got  some  burryin'  to  do, — ■ 

Mike  makes  one,  an'  I  expects 
In  ten  seconds  I'll  make  two!" 

And  he  drapped  back,  where  he  riz, 
'Crost  Mike's  body,  black  and  blue, 

Like  a  great  big  letter  X ! — - 
An'  I  wuz  a-standin'  as  clost  to  'em 

As  me  an'  you  is ! 


263 


SHE  TALKED 

BY  SAM  WALTER  FOSS 

She  talked  of  Cosmos  and  of  Cause, 
And  wove  green  elephants  in  gauze, 

And  while  she  frescoed  earthen  jugs, 
Her  tongue  would  never  pause : 

On  sages  wise  and  esoteric. 

And  bards  from  Wendell  Holmes  to  Herrick' 
Thro'  time's  proud  Pantheon  she  walked, 
And  talked  and  talked  and  talked  and  talked ! 

And  while  she  talked  she  would  crochet. 

And  make  all  kinds  of  macrame. 
Or  paint  green  bobolinks  upon 

Her  mother's  earthen  tray; 

She'd  decorate  a  smelling  bottle 
While  she  conversed  on  Aristotle; 

While  fame's  proud  favorites  round  her  flocked, 

She  talked  and  talked  and  talked  and  talked ! 

She  talked  and  made  embroidered  rugs, 
She  talked  and  painted  'lasses  jugs, 

And  worked  five  sea-green  turtle  doves 
On  papa's  shaving  mugs ; 
With  Emerson  or  Epictetus, 
Plato  or  Kant,  she  used  to  greet  us : 
She  talked  until  we  all  were  shocked, 
And  talked  and  talked  and  talked  and  talked ! 
264 


SAM    WALTER    FOSS 

She  had  a  lover,  and  he  told 
The  story  that  is  never  old. 

While  she  her  father  s  bootjack  worked 
K  lovely  green  and  gold. 

She  switched  off  on  Theocritus, 

And  talked  about  Democritus ; 
And  his  most  ardent  passion  balked, 
And  talked  and  talked  and  talked  and  talked. 

He  begged  her  to  become  his  own ; 

She  talked  of  ether  and  ozone, 

And  painted  yellow  poodles  on 

Her  brother's  razor  hone ; 

Then  talked  of  Noah  and  Neb'chadnezzar, 
And  Timon  and  Tiglath-pileser — 

While  he  at  her  heart  portals  knocked, 

She  talked  and  talked  and  talked  and  talked ! 

He  bent  in  love's  tempestuous  gule, 

She  talked  of  strata  and  of  shale. 
And  worked  magenta  poppies  on 

Her  mother's  water  pail ; 

And  while  he  talked  of  passion's  power, 
She  amplified  on  Schopenhauer — 

A  pistol  flashed  :  he's  dead !    Unshocked, 

She  talked  and  talked  and  talked  and  talked ! 


265 


GRANDMA  KEELER  GETS  GRANDPA  READY 
FOR  SUNDAY-SCHOOL 

BY  SARAH  P.  McLean  GREENE 

Sunday  morning  nothing  arose  in  Wallencamp  save  the 
sun. 

At  least,  that  celestial  orb  had  long  forgotten  all  the 
roseate  flaming  of  his  youth,  in  an  honest,  straightfor- 
ward march  through  the  heavens,  ere  the  first  signs  of 
smoke  came  curling  lazily  up  from  the  Wallencamp  chim- 
neys. 

I  had  retired  at  night,  very  weary,  with  the  delicious 
consciousness  that  it  wouldn't  make  any  difference  when 
I  woke  up  the  next  morning,  or  whether,  indeed,  I  woke 
at  all.  So  I  opened  my  eyes  leisurely  and  lay  half-dream- 
ing, half-meditating  on  a  variety  of  things. 

I  deciphered  a  few  of  the  texts  on  the  scriptural  patch- 
work quilt  which  covered  my  couch.  There  were — "Let 
not  your  heart  be  troubled,"  "Remember  Lot's  wife,"  and 
"Philander  Keeler,"  traced  in  inky  hieroglyphics,  all  in 
close  conjunction. 

Finally  I  reached  out  for  my  watch,  and,  having  ascer- 
tained the  time  of  day,  I  got  up  and  proceeded  to  dress 
hastily  enough,  w'ondering  to  hear  no  signs  of  life  in  the 
'house. 

I  went  noiselessly  down  the  stairs.  All  was  silent  below, 
except  for  the  peaceful  snoring  of  Mrs.  Philander  and  the 
little  Keelers,  which  was  responded  to  from  some  remote 
western  corner  of  the  Ark  by  the  triumphant  snores  of 
Grandma  and  Grandpa  Keeler. 

266 


SARAH   P.    McLean   GREENE 

I  attempted  to  kindle  a  fire  in  the  stove,  but  it  sizzled 
a  little  while,  spitefully,  as  much  as  to  say,  "What,  Sun- 
day morning?  Not  I!"  and  went  out.  So  I  concluded 
to  put  on  some  wraps  and  go  out  and  warm  myself  in 
the  sun. 

I  climbed  the  long-  hill  back  of  the  Ark,  descended,  and 
walked  along  the  bank  of  the  river.  It  was  a  beautiful 
morning.  The  air  was — everything  that  could  be  de- 
sired in  the  way  of  air,  but  I  felt  a  desperate  need  of  some- 
thing more  substantial. 

Standing  alone  with  nature,  on  the  bank  of  the  lovely 
river,  I  thought,  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  of  the  delicious 
breakfast  already  recuperating  the  exhausted  energies  of 
my  far-away  home  friends. 

When  I  got  back  to  the  house,  Mrs.  Philander,  in  sim- 
ple and  unaffected  attire,  was  bustling  busily  about  the 
.  stove. 

The  snores  from  Grandma  and  Grandpa's  quarter  had 
ceased,  signifying  that  they,  also,  had  advanced  a  stage 
in  the  grand  processes  of  Sunday  morning. 

The  children  came  teasing  me  to  dress  them,  so  I  fast- 
ened for  them  a  variety  of  small  articles  which  I  flattered 
myself  on  having  combined  in  a  very  ingenious  and  ar- 
tistic manner,  though  I  believe  those  infant  Keelers  went 
weeping  to  Grandma  afterward,  and  were  remodeled  by 
her  all-comforting  hand  with  much  skill  and  patience. 

In  the  midst  of  her  preparations  for  breakfast,  Made- 
line abruptly  assumed  her  hat  and  shawl,  and  was  seen 
from  the  window,  walking  leisurely  across  the  fields  in 
the  direction  of  the  woods.  She  returned  in  due  time, 
bearing  an  armful  of  fresh  evergreens,  which  she  twisted 
around  the  family  register. 

When  the  ancient  couple  made  their  appearance,  I  re- 
marked silently,  in  regard  to  Grandma  Keeler's  hair,  what 

267 


GRANDMA  KEELER  GETS  GRANDPA  READY 

proved  afterward  to  be  its  usual  holiday  morning  arrange- 
ment. It  was  confined  in  six  infinitesimal  braids  which 
appeared  to  be  sprouting  out,  perpendicularly,  in  all  di- 
rections from  her  head.  The  effect  of  redundancy  and 
expansiveness  thus  heightened  and  increased  on  Grand- 
ma's features  was  striking  in  the  extreme. 

While  we  were  eating  breakfast,  that  good  soul  ob- 
served to  Grandpa  Keeler:  "Wall,  pa,  I  suppose  you'll 
be  all  ready  when  the  time  comes  to  take  teacher  and  me 
over  to  West  Wallen  to  Sunday-school,  won't  ye?" 

Grandpa  coughed,  and  coughed  again,  and  raised  his 
eyes  helplessly  to  the  window. 

"Looks  some  like  showers,"  said  he.  "A-hem !  a-hem ! 
Looks  mightily  to  me  like  showers,  over  yonder." 

"Thar',  r'aly,  husband !  I  must  say  I  feel  mortified  for 
ye,"  said  Grandma.  "Seein'  as  you're  a  perfessor,  too, 
and  thar'  ain't  been  a  single  Sunday  mornin'  since  I've 
lived  with  ye,  pa,  summer  or  winter,  but  what  you've  seen 
showers,  and  it  r'aly  seems  to  me  it's  dreadful  incon- 
sistent when  thar'  ain't  no  cloud  in  the  sky,  and  don't 
look  no  more  like  rain  than  I  do."  And  Grandma's  face, 
in  spite  of  her  reproachful  tones,  was,  above  all,  blandly 
sunlike  and  expressive  of  anything  rather  than  deluge  and 
watery  disaster. 

Grandpa  was  silent  a  little  while,  then  coughed  again. 
I  had  never  seen  Grandpa  in  worse  straits. 

"A-hem !  a-hem !  'Fanny'  seems  to  be  a  little  lame, 
this  mornin',"  said  he.  "I  shouldn't  wonder.  She's  been 
goin'  pretty  stiddy  this  week." 

"It  does  beat  all,  pa,"  continued  Grandma  Keeler, 
"how  't  all  the  horses  you've  ever  had  since  I've  known 
ye  have  always  been  took  lame  Sunday  mornin'.  Thar' 
was  'Happy  Jack,'  he  could  go  anywhers  through  the 
week,  and  never  limp  a  step,  as  nobody  could  see,  and 

268 


SARAH    P.    McLEAN    GREENE 

Sunday  mornin'  he  was  always  took  lame!    And  thar' 
was  'Tantrum' — " 

"Tantrum"  was  the  horse  that  had  run  awtay  with 
Grandma  when  she  was  thrown  from  the  wagon,  and  gen- 
erally smashed  to  pieces.  And  now,  Grandma  branched 
off  into  the  thrilling  reminiscences  connected  with  this  in- 
cident of  her  life,  which  was  the  third  time  during  the 
week  that  the  horrible  tale  had  been  repeated  for  my  de- 
lectation. 

When  she  had  finished.  Grandpa  shook  his.  head  with 
painful  earnestness,  reverting  to  the  former  subject  of 
discussion. 

"It's  a  long  jaunt!"  said  he;  "a  long  jaunt!" 

"Thar's  a  long  hill  to  climb  before  we  reach  Zion's 
mount,"  said  Grandma  Keeler,  impressively. 

"Wall,  there's  a  darned  sight  harder  one  on  the  road 
to  West  Wallen!"  burst  out  the  old  sea-captain  desper- 
ately; "say  nothin'  about  the  devilish  stones!" 

"Thar'  now,"  said  Grandma,  with  calm  though  awful 
reproof;  "I  think  we've  gone  fur  enough  for  one  day; 
we've  broke  the  Sabbath,  and  took  the  name  of  the  Lord 
in  vain,  and  that  ought  to  be  enough  for  perfessors." 

Grandpa  replied  at  length  in  a  greatly  subdued  tone: 
"Wall,  if  you  and  the  teacher  want  to  go  over  to  Sunday- 
school  to-day,  I  suppose  we  can  go  if  we  get  ready,"  a 
long  submissive  sigh — "I  suppose  we  can." 

"They  have  preachin'  service  in  tlie  mornin',  I  sup- 
pose," said  Grandma.  "But  we  don't  generally  git  along 
to  that.  It  makes  such  an  early  start.  We  generally  try 
to  get  around,  when  we  go,  in  time  for  Sunday-school. 
They  have  singin'  and  all.  It's  just  about  as  interestin', 
I  think,  as  preachin*.  The  old  man  r'aly  likes  it,"  she  ob- 
served aside  to  me;  "when  he  once  gets  started,  but  he 
kind  o'  dreads  the  gittin'  started." 

269 


GRANDMA  KEELER  GETS  GRANDPA  READY 

When  I  beheld  the  ordeal  through  which  Grandpa 
Keeler  was  called  to  pass,  at  the  hands  of  his  faithful 
consort,  before  he  was  considered  in  a  fit  condition  of 
mind  and  body  to  embark  for  the  sanctuary,  I  marveled 
not  at  the  old  man's  reluctance,  nor  that  he  had  indeed 
seen  clouds  and  tempest  fringing  the  horizon. 

Immediately  after  breakfast,  he  set  out  for  the  barn, 
ostensibly  to  "see  to  the  chores;"  really,  I  believe,  to  ob- 
tain a  few  moments'  respite,  before  worse  evil  should 
come  upon  him. 

Pretty  soon  Grandma  was  at  the  back  door  calling  in 
firm  though  persuasive  tones : 

"Husband !  husband !  come  in,  now,  and  get  ready." 

No  answer.  Then  it  was  in  another  key,  weighty,  yet 
expressive  of  no  weak  irritation,  that  Grandma  called 
"Come,  pa !  pa-a !  pa-a-a !"    Still  no  answer. 

Then  that  voice  of  Grandma's  sung  out  like  a  trumpet, 
terrible  with  meaning — "Bijonah  Keeler !" 

But  Grandpa  appeared  not.  Next,  I  saw  Grandma 
slowly  but  surely  gravitating  in  the  direction  of  the  barn, 
and  soon  she  returned,  bringing  with  her  that  ancient 
delinquent,  who  looked  like  a  lost  sheep  indeed  and  a 
truly  unreconciled  one. 

"Now  the  first  thing,"  said  Grandma,  looking  her  for- 
lorn captive  over;  "is  boots.  Go  and  get  on  yer  meetin' 
gaiters,  pa." 

The  old  gentleman,  having  dutifully  invested  himself 
with  those  sacred  relics,  came  pathetically  limping  into 
the  room. 

"I  declare,  ma,"  said  he;  "somehow  these  things — 
phew!  Somehow  they  pinch  my  feet  dreadfully.  I  don't 
know  what  it  is, — phew !  They're  dreadful  oncomf 'table 
things  somehow." 

"Since  I've  known  ye,  pa,"  solemnly  ejaculated  Grand- 

270 


SARAH    P.    McLean    GREENE 

ma  Keeler,  "you've  never  had  a  pair  o'  meetin^  boots  that 
set  easy  on  yer  feet.  You'd  ought  to  get  boots  big  enough 
for  ye,  pa,"  she  continued,  looking  down  disapprovingly 
on  the  old  gentleman's  pedal  extremities,  which  resembled 
two  small  scows  at  anchor  in  black  cloth  encasements : 
"and  not  be  so  proud  as  to  go  to  pinchin'  yer  feet  into 
gaiters  a  number  o'  sizes  too  small  for  ye." 

"They're  number  tens,  I  tell  ye !"  roared  Grandpa  net- 
tled outrageously  by  this  cutting  taunt. 

"Wall,  thar',  now,  pa,"  said  Grandma,  soothingly;  "if 
I  had  sech  feet  as  that,  I  wouldn't  go  to  spreadin'  it  all 
over  town,  if  I  was  you — ^but  it's  time  we  stopped  bicker- 
in'  now,  husband,  and  got  ready  for  meetin' ;  so  set  down 
and  let  me  wash  yer  head." 

"I've  washed  once  this  mornin'.  It's  clean  enough," 
Grandpa  protested,  but  in  vain.  He  was  planted  in  a 
chair,  and  Grandma  Keeler,  with  rag  and  soap  and  a  basin 
of  water,  attacked  the  old  gentleman  vigorously,  much  as 
I  have  seen  cruel  mothers  wash  the  faces  of  their  earth- 
begrimed  infants.  He  only  gave  expression  to  such 
groans  as : 

"Thar',  ma !  don't  tear  my  ears  to  pieces !  Come,  ma ! 
you've  got  my  eyes  so  full  o'  soap  now,  ma,  that  I  can't 
see  nothin'.  Phew,  Lordy!  ain't  ye  most  through  with 
this,  ma?" 

Then  came  the  dyeing  process,  which  Grandma  Keeler 
assured  me,  aside,  made  Grandpa  "look  like  a  man  o' 
thirty;"  but  to  me,  after  it  he  looked  neither  old  nor 
young,  human  nor  inhuman,  nor  like  anything  that  I  had 
ever  seen  before  under  the  sun. 

"There's  the  lotion,  the  potion,  the  dye-er,  and  the  set- 
ter," said  Grandma,  pointing  to  four  bottles  on  the  tablev 
"Now  whar's  the  directions,  Madeline?" 

These  having  been  produced  from  between  the  leaves 

271 


GRANDMA  KEELER  GETS  GRANDPA  READY 

of  the  family  Bible,  Madeline  read,  while  Grandma  made 
a  vigorous  practical  application  of  the  various  mixtures. 

"This  admirable  lotion" — in  soft  ecstatic  tones  Made- 
line rehearsed  the  flowery  language  of  the  recipe — 
"though  not  so  instantaneously  startling  in  its  effect  as 
our  inestimable  dyer  and  setter,  yet  forms  a  most  essen- 
tial part  of  the  w'hole  process,  opening,  as  it  does,  the 
dry  and  lifeless  pores  of  the  scalp,  imparting  to  them  new 
life  and  beauty,  and  rendering  them  more  easily  suscepti- 
ble to  the  applications  which  follow.  But  we  must  go 
deeper  than  this ;  a  tone  must  be  given  to  the  whole  sys-' 
tern  by  means  of  the  cleansing  and  rejuvenating  of  the 
very  centre  of  our  beings,  and,  for  this  purpose,  we  have 
prepared  our  wonderful  potion."  Here  Grandpa,  with  a' 
wry  face,  was  made  to  swallow  a  spoonful  of  the  mix-' 
ture.  "Our  unparalleled  dyer,"  Madeline  continued,  "re- 
stores black  hair  to  a  more  than  original  gloss  and  bril- 
liancy, and  gives  to  the  faded  golden  tress  the  sunny 
flashes  of  youth."  Grandpa  wlas  dyed.  "Our  world-, 
renowned  setter  completes  and  perfects  the  whole  process 
by  adding  tone  and  permanency  to  the  efficacious  qualities 
of  the  lotion,  potion,  and  dyer,  etc. ;"  while  on  Grandpa's 
head  the  unutterable  dye  was  set. 

"Now,  read  teacher  some  of  the  testimonials,  daugh- 
ter," said  Grandma  Keeler,  whose  face  was  one  broad, 
generous  illustration  of  that  rare  and  peculiar  virtue 
called  faith. 

So  Madeline  continued:  "Mrs.  Hiram  Briggs,  of. 
North  Dedham,  writes:  'I  was  terribly  afflicted  withj 
baldness,  so  that,  for  months,  I  was  little  more  than  an^ 
outcast  from  society,  and  an  object  of  pity  to  my  most 
familiar  friends.  I  tried  every  remedy  in  vain.  At 
length  I  heard  of  your  wonderful  restorative.  After  a' 
week's  application,  my  hair  had  already  begun  to  grow 

272 


SARAH    P.    McLean    GREENE 

in  what  seemed  the  most  miraculous  manner.  At  the  end 
of  ten  months  it  had  assumed  such  length  and  propor- 
tions as  to  be  a  most  luxurious  burden,  and  where  I  had 
before  been  regarded  with  pity  and  aversion,  I  became 
the  envied  and  admired  of  all  beholders.'  " 

"Just  think!"  said  Grandma  Keeler,  with  rapturous 
sympathy  and  gratitude,  "how  that  poor  creetur  must  a' 
felt!" 

"  'Orion  Spaulding,  of  Weedsville,  Vermont,' "  Made- 
line went  on — but,  here,  I  had  to  beg  to  be  excused,  and 
went  to  my  room  to  get  ready  for  the  Sunday-school. 

When  I  came  down  again.  Grandpa  Keeler  was  seated, 
completely  arrayed  in  his  best  clothes,  opposite  Grandma, 
who  held  the  big  family  Bible  in  her  lap,  and  a  Sunday- 
school  question  book  in  one  hand. 

"Now,  pa,"  said  she ;  "what  tribe  was  it  in  sacred  writ 
that  wore  bunnits?" 

I  was  compelled  to  infer  from  the  tone  of  Grandpa 
Keeler's  answer  that  his  temper  had  not  undergone  a 
mollifying  process  during  my  absence. 

"Come,  ma,"  said  he;  "how  much  longer  ye  goin'  to 
pester  me  in  this  way?" 

"Why,  pa,"  Grandma  rejoined  calmly;  "until  you  git 
a  proper  understandin'  of  it.  What  tribe  was  it  in  sacred 
writ  that  wore  bunnits  ?" 

"Lordy !"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "How  d'ye  suppose 
I  know !  They  must  'a'  been  a  tarnal  old  womanish  look- 
in'  set  anyway." 

"The  tribe  o'  Judah,  pa,"  said  Grandma,  gravely. 
"Now,  how  good  it  is,  husband,  to  have  your  understand- 
in'  all  freshened  up  on  the  scripters !" 

"Come,  come,  ma !"  said  Grandpa,  rising  nervously. 
"It's  time  we  was  startin'.  When  I  make  up  my  mind  to 
go  anywhere  I  always  want  to  git  there  in  time.    If  I  was 

273 


GRANDMA  KEELER  GETS  GRANDPA  READY 

goin'  to  the  Old  Harry,  I  should  want  to  git  there  In 
time." 

"It's  my  consarn  that  we  shall  git  thar'  before  time, 
spme  on  us,"  said  Grandma,  with  sad  meaning,  "unless 
we  lam  to  use  more  respec'ful  language." 

I  shall  never  forget  how  we  set  off  for  church  that 
Sabbath  morning,  way  out  at  one  of  the  sunny  back  doors 
of  the  Ark:  for  there  was  Madeline's  little  cottage  that 
fronted  the  highway,  or  lane,  and  then  there  was  a  long 
backward  extension  of  the  Ark,  only  one  story  in  height. 
This  belonged  peculiarly  to  Grandma  and  Grandpa 
Keeler.  It  contained  the  "parlor"  and  three  "keepin'  " 
rooms  opening  one  into  the  other,  all  of  the  same  size  and 
general  bare  and  gloomy  appearance,  all  possessing  the 
same  sacredly  preserved  atmosphere,  through  which  we 
passed  with  becoming  silence  and  solemnity  into  the  "end" 
room,  the  sunny  kitchen  where  Grandma  and  Grandpa 
kept  house  by  themselves  in  the  summer  time,  and  there 
at  the  door,  her  very  yellow  coat  reflecting  the  rays  of 
the  sun,  stood  Fanny,  presenting  about  as  much  appear- 
ance of  life  and  animation  as  a  pensive  summer  squash. 

The  carriage,  I  thought,  was  a  fac-simile  of  the  one  in 
which  I  had  been  brought  from  West  Wallen  on  the  night 
of  my  arrival.  One  of  the  most  striking  peculiarities  of 
this  sort  of  vehicle  was  the  width  at  which  the  wheels 
were  set  apart.  The  body  seemed  comparatively  narrow. 
It  was  very  long,  and  covered  with  white  canvas.  It  had 
neither  windows  nor  doors,  but  just  the  one  guarded 
opening  in  front.  There  were  no  steps  leading  to  this, 
and,  indeed,  a  variety  of  obstacles  before  it.  And  the  way 
Grandma  effected  an  entrance  was  to  put  a  chair  on  a 
mound  of  earth,  and  a  cricket  on  top  of  the  chair,  and 
thus,  having  climbed  up  to  Fanny's  reposeful  back,  she 
slipped  passively  down,  feet  foremost,  to  the  whiffle-tree; 

274 


SARAH    P.    McLean   GREENE 

from  thence  she  easily  gained  the  plane  of  the  carriage 
floor. 

Grandpa  and  I  took  a  less  circuitous,  though,  perhaps, 
not  less  difficult  route. 

I  sat  with  Grandpa  on  the  "front"  seat — it  may  be  re- 
marked that  the  "front"  seat  was  very  much  front,  and 
the  "back"  seat  very  much  back — there  w^s  a  kind  of 
wooden  shelf  built  outside  as  a  resting-place  for  the  feet, 
so  that  while  our  heads  were  under  cover,  our  feet  were 
out,  utterly  exposed  to  the  weather,  and  we  must  either 
lay  them  on  the  shelf  or  let  them  hang  off  into  space. 

Madeline  and  the  children  stood  at  the  door  to  see  us 
off. 

"All  aboard !  ship  ballasted !  wnnd  fa'r !  go  ahead  thar*, 
Fanny!"  shouted  Grandpa,  who  seemed  quite  restored  in 
spirits,  and  held  the  reins  and  wielded  the  whip  with  a 
masterful  air. 

He  spun  sea-yarns,  too,  all  the  way — marvelous  ones, 
and  Grandma's  reproving  voice  was  mellowed  by  the  dis- 
tance, and  so  confusedly  mingled  with  the  rumbling  of 
the  wheels,  that  it  seemed  hardly  to  reach  him  at  all.  Not 
that  Grandma  looked  discomfited  on  this  account,  or  in 
bad  humor.  On  the  contrary,  as  she  sat  back  there  in  the 
ghostly  shadows,  with  her  hands  folded,  and  her  hair 
combed  out  in  resplendent  waves  on  either  side  of  her 
head,  she  appeared  conscious  that  every  word  she  uttered 
was  taking  root  in  some  obdurate  heart.  She  was,  in 
every  respect,  the  picture  of  good-will  and  contentment. 

But  the  face  under  Grandpa's  antiquated  beaver  began 
to  give  me  a  fresh  shock  every  time  I  looked  up  at  him, 
for  the  light  and  the  air  were  rapidly  turning  his  rejuve- 
nated locks  and  his  poor,  thin  fringe  of  whiskers  to  an 
unnatural  greenish  tint,  while  his  bushy  eyebrows,  un- 
touched by  the  hand  of  art,  shone  as  white  as  ever. 

275 


GRANDMA  KEELER  GETS  GRANDPA  READY 

In  spite  of  the  old  sea-captain's  entertaining  stories,  it 
seemed,  indeed,  "a  long  jaunt"  to  West  Wallen. 

To  say  that  Fanny  was  a  slow  horse  would  be  but  a 
feeble  expression  of  the  truth. 

A  persevering  "click !  click !  click !"  began  to  arise 
from  Grandma's  quarter.  This  annoyed  Grandpa  ex- 
ceedingly. 

"Shet  up,  ma !"  he  was  moved  to  exclaim  at  last.  "I'm 
steerin'  this  craft." 

"Click!  click!  click!"  came  perseveringly  from  behind. 

"Dum  it,  ma!  thar',  ma!"  cried  Grandpa,  exasperated 
beyond  measure.  "How  is  this  boss  goin'  to  hear  any- 
thing that  I  say  ef  you  keep  up  such  a  tarnal  cacklin'  ?" 

Just  as  we  were  coming  out  of  the  thickest  part  of  the 
woods,  about  a  mile  beyond  Wallencamp,  we  discovered 
a  man  walking  in  the  distance.  It  was  the  only  human 
being  we  had  seen  since  we  started. 

"Hullo,  there's  Lovell!"  exclaimed  Grandpa.  "I  was 
wonderin'  why  we  hadn't  overtook  him  before.  We  gin- 
'ally  take  him  in  on  the  road.  Yis,  yis;  that's  Lovell, 
ain't  it,  teacher  ?" 

I  put  up  my  glasses,  helplessly. 

"I'm  sure,"  I  said,  "I  can't  tell,  positively.  I  have 
seen  Mr.  Barlow  but  once,  and  at  that  distance  I  shouldn't 
know  my  own  father." 

"Must  be  Lovell,"  said  Grandpa.  "Yis,  I  know  him! 
Hullo,  thar' !    Ship  ahoy !  ship  ahoy !' 

Grandpa's  voice  suggested  something  of  the  fire  and 
vigor  It  must  have  had  when  it  rang  out  across  the  foam 
of  waves  and  pierced  the  tempest's  roar. 

The  man  turned  and  looked  at  us,  and  then  went  on 
again. 

"He  don't  seem  to  recognize  us,"  said  Grandma. 

"Ship  a-hoy !    Ship  a-hoy !"  shouted  Grandpa. 


SARAH    P.    McLean    GREENE 

THe  man  turned  and  looked  at  us  again,  and  this  time 
he  stopped  and  kept  on  looking. 

When  we  got  up  to  him  we  saw  that  it  wasn't  Lovell 
'Barlow  at  all,  but  a  stranger  of  trampish  appearance, 
drunk  and  fiery,  and  fixed  in  an  aggressive  attitude. 

I  was  naturally  terrified.  What  if  he  should  attack  us 
in  that  lonely  spot!  Grandpa  was  so  old!  And  more- 
over, Grandpa  was  so  taken  aback  to  find  that  it  wasn't 
Lovell  that  he  began  some  blunt  and  stammering  expres- 
sion of  surprise,  which  only  served  to  increase  the  stran- 
ger's ire.  Grandma,  imperturbable  soul !  who  never  failed 
to  come  to  the  rescue  even  in  the  most  desperate  emer- 
gencies— Grandma  climbed  over  to  the  front,  thrust  out 
her  benign  head,  and  said  in  that  deep,  calm  voice  of  hers : 

"We're  a  goin'  to  the  house  of  God,  brother ;  won't  you 
git  in  and  go  too?" 

"No!"  our  brother  replied,  doubling  up  his  fists  and 
shaking  them  menacingly  in  our  faces :  "I  won't  go  to 
no  house  o'  God.  What  d'ye  mean  by  overhauling  me 
on  the  road,  and  askin'  me  to  git  into  yer  d — d  old  travel- 
ing lunatic  asylum  ?" 

"Drive  on,  pa,"  said  Grandma,  coldly.  "He  ain't  in  no 
condition  to  be  labored  with  now.  Drive  on  kind  o' 
quick!" 

"Kind  o'  quick"  we  could  not  go,  but  Fanny  was  made 
to  do  her  best,  and  we  did  not  pause  to  look  behind. 

When  \Ve  got  to  the  church  Sunday-school  had  already 
begun.  There  was  Lovell  Barlow  looking  preternaturally 
stiff  in  his  best  clothes,  sitting  with  a  class  of  young  men. 
He  saw  us  when  we  came  in,  and  gave  me  a  look  of  deep 
meaning.  It  was  the  same  expression — as  though  there 
was  some  solemn,  mutual  understanding  between  us — 
which  he  had  worn  on  that  night  when  he  gave  me  his 
picture. 

V7 


GRANDMA  KEELER  GETS  GRANDPA  READY 

"There's  plenty  of  young  folks'  classes,"  said  Grand- 
ma; "but  seein'  as  we're  late  maybe  you'd  jest  as  soon 
go  right  along  in  with  us." 

I  said  that  I  should  like  that  best,  so  I  went  into  the 
"old  folks'  "  class  with  Grandma  and  Grandpa  Keeler. 

There  were  three  pews  of  old  people  in  front  of  us,  and 
the  teacher,  who  certainly  seemed  to  me  the  oldest  per- 
son I  had  ever  seen,  sat  in  an  otherwise  vacant  pew  in 
front  of  all,  so  that,  his  voice  being  very  thin  and  queru- 
lous, we  could  hear  very  little  that  he  said,  although  we 
were  edified  in  some  faint  sense  by  his  pious  manner  of 
shaking  his  head  and  rolling  his  eyes  toward  the  ceiling. 

The  church  was  a  square  wooden  edifice,  of  medium 
size,  and  contained  three  stoves  all  burning  brightly. 
Against  this,  and  the  drowsy  effect  of  their  long  drive  in 
the  sun  and  wind,  my  two  companions  proved  powerless 
to  struggle. 

Grandpa  looked  furtively  up  at  Grandma,  then  en- 
deavored to  put  on  as  a  sort  of  apology  for  what  he  felt 
was  inevitably  coming,  a  sanctimonious  expression  which 
was  most  unnatural  to  him,  and  which  soon  faded  away 
as  the  sweet  unconsciousness  of  slumber  overspread  his 
features.  His  head  fell  back  helplessly,  his  mouth  opened 
wide.  He  snored,  but  not  very  loudly.  I  looked  at 
Grandma,  wondering  why  her  vigilance  had  failed  on  this 
occasion,  and  lo!  her  head  was  falling  peacefully  from 
side  to  side.  She  was  fast  asleep,  too.  She  woke  up  first, 
however,  and  then  Grandpa  was  speedily  and  adroitly 
aroused  by  some  means,  I  think  it  was  a  pin ;  and  Grand- 
ma fed  him  with  bits  of  unsweetened  flag-root,  which  he 
munched  penitently,  though  evidently  without  relish,  un- 
til he  dropped  off  to  sleep  again,  and  she  dropped  off  to 
sleep  again,  and  so  they  continued. 

But  it  always  happened  that  Grandma  woke  up  first. 

278 


SARAH    P.    McLEAN    GREENE 

And  whereas  Grandpa,  when  the  avenging  pin  pierced 
his  shins,  recovered  himself  with  a  start  and  an  air  of 
guilty  confusion,  Grandma  opened  her  eyes  at  regular  in- 
tervals, with  the  utmost  calm  and  placidity,  as  though 
she  had  merely  been  closing  them  to  engage  in  a  few  mo- 
ments of  silent  prayer. 


279 


VIVE  LA  BAGATELLE 

BY    GELETT    BURGESS 

Sing  a  song  of  foolishness,  laughing  stocks  and  cranks ! 
The  more  there  are  the  merrier ;  come  join  the  ranks ! 
Life  is  dry  and  stupid ;  whoop  her  up  a  bit ! 
Donkeys  live  in  clover ;  bray  and  throw  a  fit ! 

Take  yourself  in  earnest,  never  stop  to  think, 
Strut  and  swagger  boldly,  dress  in  red  and  pink ; 
Prate  of  stuff  and  nonsense,  get  yourself  abused ; 
Some  one's  got  to  play  the  fool  to  keep  the  crowd  amused ! 

Bully  for  the  idiot !  Bully  for  the  guy ! 

You  could  be  a  prig  yourself,  if  you  would  only  try! 

Altruistic  asses  keep  the  fun  alive ; 

Clowns  are  growing  scarcer ;  hurry  and  arrive ! 

I  seen  a  crazy  critic  a-writin'  of  a  screed ; 
"Tendencies"  and  "Unities" — Maeterlinck  indeed! 
He  wore  a  paper  collar,  and  his  tie  was  up  behind ; 
If  that's  the  test  of  Culture,  then  I'm  glad  I'm  not  refined ! 

Let  me  laugh  at  you,  then  you  can  laugh  at  me ; 
Then  we'll  josh  together  everything  we  see; 
Every  one's  a  nincompoop  to  another's  view ; 
Laughter  makes  the  sun  shine !  Roop-de-doodle-doo ! 


280 


THE  TWO  BROTHERS 


BY    CAROLYN    WELLS 


Once  on  a  Time  there  were  Two  Brothers  who  Set  Out 
to  make  their  Way  In  The  World. 

One  was  of  a  Roving  Disposition,  and  no  sooner  had 
he  settled  Down  to  Live  in  One  Place  than  he  would 
Gather  Up  all  his  Goods  and  Chattels  and  Move  to  an- 
other Place.  From  here  again  he  would  Depart  and 
make  him  a  Fresh  Home,  and  so  on  until  he  Became  an 
Old  Man  and  had  gained  neither  Fortune  nor  Friends. 

The  Other,  being  Disinclined  to  Change  or  Diversity 
of  Scene,  remained  all  his  Life  in  One  Place.  He  there- 
fore Became  Narrow-Minded  and  Provincial,  and  gained 
None  of  the  Culture  and  Liberality  of  Nature  which 
comes  from  Contact  with  various  Scenes  of  Life. 

MORALS  : 

This  Fable  teaches  that  a  Rolling  Stone  Gathers  No 
Moss,  and  a  Setting  Hen  Never  Grows  Fat. 


281 


A  LETTER 

FROM    PETROLEUM   V.    NASBY 

I  AM  Requested  to  Act  as  Chaplain  of  the  Cleve- 
land Convention. — That  Beautiful  City  Visited 
for  that  Purpose. 

Post  Offis,  Confedrit  X  Roads, 

(wich  is  in  the  Stait  uv  Kentucky)', 

September  20,  1866. 
I  wuz  sent  for  to  come  to  Washington,  from  my  com- 
fortable quarters  at  the  Post  Offis,  to  attend  the  conven- 
shun  uv  sich  soldiers  and  sailors  uv  the  United  States  ez 
bleeve  in  a  Union  uv  36  States,  and  who  hev  sworn  alle- 
jinse  to  a  flag  with  36  stars  onto  it,  at  Cleveland.  My 
esteemed  and  life-long  friend  and  co-laborer,  Rev.  Henry 
Ward  Beecher,  wuz  to  hev  bin  the  chaplin  uv  the  conven- 
shun,  but  he  failed  us,  and  it  wuz  decided  in  a  Cabinet 
meetin  that  I  shood  take  his  place.  I  didn't  see  the  neces- 
sity uv  hevin  a  chaplin  at  every  little  convenshun  uv  our 
party,  and  so  stated ;  but  Seward  remarked,  with  a  groan, 
that  ef  ever  there  wuz  a  party,  since  parties  wuz  invented, 
wich  needed  prayin  for,  ours  wuz  that  party.  "And, 
Parson,"  sed  he,  glancin'  at  a  list  uv  delegates,  "ef  yoo  hev 
any  agonizin  petitions,  any  prayers  uv  extra  fervency, 
offer  em  up  for  these  fellers.  Ef  there  is  any  efficacy  in 
prayer,  it's  my  honest,  unbiased  opinion  that  there  never 
wuz  in  the  history  uv  the  world,  nor  never  will  be  agin, 
sich  a  magnificent  chance  to  make  it  manifest.  Try  yoor- 
self  particularly  on  Custer;  tho',  after  all,"  continyood  he, 

282 


PETROLEUM  V.  NASBY 

in  a  musin,  abstracted  sort  uv  a  way,  wich  he's  fallen  into 
lately,  "the  fellow  is  sich  a  triflin  bein,  that  he  reely  kin 
hardly  be  held  'sponsible  for  what  he's  doin ;  and  the  bal- 
ance uv  em,  good  Hevens!  they'r  mostly  druv  to  it  by 
hunger."  And  the  Secretary  maundered  on  suthin  about 
"sixty  days"  and  "ninety  days,"  payin  no  more  attention 
to  the  rest  uv  us  than  ez  ef  we  wuzn't  there  at  all. 

So,  receevin  transportashen  and  suffishent  money  from 
the  secret  service  fund  for  expenses,  I  departed  for  Cleve- 
land, and  after  a  tejus  trip  thro'  an  Ablishn  country,  I 
arrived  there.  My  thots  were  gloomy  beyond  expression. 
I  bed  recently  gone  through  this  same  country  ez  chaplin 
to  the  Presidential  tour,  and  every  stashen  hed  its  pecoo- 
liar  onpleasant  remembrances.  Here  wuz  where  the  cheers 
for  Grant  were  vociferous,  with  nary  a  snort  for  His 
Eggslency ;  there  wuz  where  the  peasantry  laft  in  his  face 
when  he  went  thro'  with  the  regler  ritooal  uv  presentin 
the  constitooshn  and  the  flag  with  36  stars  onto  it  to  a 
deestrick  assessor;  there  wuz — ^but  why  recount  my  suf- 
ferins  ?  Why  harrow  up  the  public  bosom,  or  lasserate  the 
public  mind  ?  Suffice  to  say,  I  endoored  it ;  suffice  to  say 
that  I  hed  strength  left  to  ride  up  Bank  street,  in  Cleve- 
land, the  seen  uv  the  most  awful  insult  the  Eggsecutive 
ever  receeved. 

The  evenin  I  arrived,  the  delegates,  sich  ez  wuz  on 
hand,  held  a  informal  meetin  to  arrange  matters  so  ez 
they  wood  work  smooth  when  the  crowd  finally  got  to- 
gether. Genral  Wool  wuz  ez  gay  and  frisky  ez  though 
he  reely  belonged  to  the  last  ginerashn.  There  wuz  Custar, 
uv  Michigan,  with  his  hair  freshly  oiled  and  curled,  and 
busslin  about  ez  though  he  hed  cheated  hisself  into  the 
beleef  that  he  reely  amounted  to  suthin;  and  there  wuz 
seventy-eight  other  men,  who  hed  distinguished  their- 
selves  in  the  late  war,  but  who  hed  never  got  their  deserts, 

283 


A  LETTER 

ceptin  by  tDrevet,  owin  to  the  fact  that  the  Admlnlstrashnl 
wuz  Ablishn,  which  they  wuzn't.  They  were,  in  a  pekuni- 
ary  pint  uv  view,  suthin  the  worse  for  wear,  tho'  why  that 
shood  hev  bin  the  case  I  coodent  see  (they  hevin  bin,  to 
an  alarmin  extent,  quarter-masters  and  commissaries,  and 
in  the  recrootin  service),  til  I  notist  the  prevaihn  color  uv 
their  noses,  and  heerd  one  uv  em  ask  his  neighbor  ef 
Cleveland  wuz  blest  with  a  faro  bank !  Then  I  knowd  all 
about  it. 

There  wuz  another  pekooliarity  about  it  which  for  a 
time  amoozed  me.  Them  ez  wuz  present  wuz  divided  into 
2  classes — those  ez  hed  bin  recently  appinted  to  posi- 
shens,  and  them  ez  expected  to  be  shortly.  I  notist  on 
the  countenances  uv  the  first  class  a  look  uv  releef,  sich 
ez  I  hev  seen  in  factories  Saturday  nite,  after  the  hands 
wuz  paid  off  for  a  hard  week's  work;  and  on  the  other 
class  the  most  wolfish,  hungry,  fierce  expression  I  hev  ever 
witnessed.  Likewise,  I  notist  that  the  latter  set  uv  pa- 
triots talked  more  hefty  uv  the  necessity  uv  sustainin  the 
policy  uv  our  firm  and  noble  President,  and  damned  the 
Ablishunists  with  more  emphasis  and  fervency  than  the 
others. 

One  enthoosiastic  individual,  who  hed  bin  quarter- 
master two  years,  and  hed  bin  allowed  to  resign  "jest 
after  the  battle,  mother,"  wich,  hevin  his  papers  all  de- 
stroyed, made  settlin  with  the  government  a  easy  matter, 
wuz  so  feroshus  that  I  felt  called  upon  to  check  him. 
"Gently,  my  frend,"  sed  I,  "gently!  I  hev  bin  thro'  this 
thing;  I  hev  my  commission.  It  broke  out  on  me  jest  ez 
it  hez  on  yoo ;  but  yoo  won't  git  yoor  Assessorship  a  minit 
sooner  for  it." 

"It  ain't  a  Assessorship  I  want,"  sez  he.  "I  hev  de- 
voted myself  to  the  task  uv  bindin  up  the  wounds  uv  my 
beloved  country — " 

284 


PETROLEUM  V.  NASBY 

"Did  you  stop  anybody  very  much  from  inflictin  them 
sed  wounds?"  murmured  I. 

"An  ef  I  accept  the  Post  Orfis  in  my  native  village, — 
which  I  hev  bin  solissited  so  strongly  to  take  that  I  hev 
finally  yielded, — I  do  it  only  that  I  may  devote  my  few 
remainin  energies  wholly  to  the  great  cause  uv  restorin 
the  36  States  to  their  normal  posishens  under  the  flag 
with  36  stars  onto  it,  in  spite  uv  the  Joodis  Iskariots  wich, 
ef  I  am  whom,  wat  is  the  Savior,  and — and  where  is — " 

Perseevin  that  the  unfortunate  man  hed  got  into  the 
middle  uv  a  quptashen  from  the  speech  uv  our  noble  and 
patriotic  President,  and  knowin  his  intellek  wuzn't  hefty 
enough  to  git  it  off  jist  as  it  wuz  originally  delivered,  I 
took  him  by  the  throat,  and  shet  off  the  flood  uv  his  elo- 
kence. 

"Be  quiet,  yoo  idiot !"  remarked  I,  soothingly,  to  him. 
"Yoo'll  git  your  apintment,  becoz,  for  the  fust  time  in  the 
history  uv  this  or  any  other  Republic,  there's  a  market 
for  jist  sich  men  ez  yoo;  but  all  this  blather  won't  fetch 
it  a  minit  sooner." 

"Good  Lord !"  tho't  I,  ez  I  turned  away,  "wat  a  Presi- 
dent A.  J.  is,  to  hev  to  buy  up  sich  cattle !  Wat  a  post- 
master he  must  be,  whose  gineral  cussedness  turns  my 
stummick !" 

It  wuz  deemed  necessary  to  see  uv  wat  we  wuz  com- 

pozed;  whatever  Kernel  K ,  who  is  now  Collector 

uv  Revenue  in  Illinoy,  asked  ef  there  wuz  ary  man  in  the 
room  who  hed  bin  a  prizner  doorin  the  late  fratricidle 
struggle.  A  gentleman  uv,  perhaps,  thirty  aroze,  and 
sed  he  wuz.  He  hed  bin  taken  three  times,  and  wuz, 
altogether,  18  months  in  doorance  vile  in  three  diffrent 
prizns. 

Custar  fell  pn  his  neck,  and  asked  him,  aggitatidly,  ef 
he  wuz  shoor — quite  shoor,  after  suffer  in  all  that,  that  he 

28s 


A  LETTER 

supported  the  policy  of  the  President?     Are  you  quite 
shoor — quite  shoor? 

^  "I  am,"  returned  the  phenomenon.  "I  stand  by  Andrew 
Johnson  and  his  poHcy,  and  I  don't  want  no  office !" 

"Hev  yoo  got  wun  ?"  shouted  they  all  in  korus. 

"Nary!"  sed  he.  "With  me  it  is  a  matter  uv  principle!" 

"Wat  prizns  wuz  yoo  incarcerated  in  ?"  asked  I,  lookin 
at  him  with  wonder. 

"Fust  at  Camp  Morton,  then  at  Camp  Douglas,  and 
finally  at  Johnson's  Island !" 

Custar  dropt  him,  and  the  rest  remarked  that,  while 
they  hed  a  very  helthy  opinion  uv  him,  they  guessed  he'd 
better  not  menshen  his  presence,  or  consider  hisself  a  dele- 
gate. Ez  ginerous  foes  they  loved  him  ruther  better  than 
a  brother ;  yet,  as  the  call  didn't  quite  inclood  him,  tho' 
there  wuz  a  delightful  oneness  between  em,  yet,  ef  'twuz 
all  the  same,  he  hed  better  not  announce  hisself.  He  wuz 
from  Kentucky,  I  afterwards  ascertained. 

The  next  mornin,  suthin  over  two  hundred  more  arriv; 
and  the  delegashens  bein  all  in,  it  wuz  decided  to  go  on 
with  the  show.  A  big  tent  hed  bin  brought  on  from  Bos- 
ton to  accommodate  the  expected  crowd,  and  quite  an  ani- 
mated discussion  arose  ez  to  wich  corner  uv  it  the  Con- 
venshun  wuz  to  ockepy.  This  settled,  the  biznis  wuz  be- 
gun. Genral  Wool  wuz  made  temporary  Chairman,  to 
wich  honor  he  responded  in  a  elokent  extemporaneous 
speech,  which  he  read  from  manuscript.  General  Ewing 
made  another  extemporaneous  address,  which  he  read 
from  manuscript,  and  we  adjourned  for  dinner. 

The  dinner  hour  was  spent  in  caucussin  privately  in 
one  uv  the  parlors  uv  the  hotel.  The  Chairman  asked 
who  shood  make  speeches  after  dinner,  wen  every  man 
uv  em  pulled  from  his  right  side  coat  pocket  a  roll  uv 
manuscript,  and  sed  he  hed  jotted  down  a  few  ijees  wich 

286 


PETROLEUM  V.  NASBY 

he  hed  conclooded  to  present  extemporaneously  to  the 
Convenshun.  That  Babel  over,  the  Chairman  sed  he  pre- 
soomed  some  one  shood  be  selected  to  prepare  a  address ; 
whereupon  every  delegate  rose,  and  pulled  a  roll  uv  manu- 
script from  his  left  side  coat  pocket,  and  sed  he  had  jotted 
down  a  few  ijees  on  the  situashn,  wich  he  proposed  to 
present,  et  settry.  This  occasioned  another  shindy;  wen 
the  Chairman  remarked  "Resolushens,"  wen  every  dele- 
gate rose,  pulled  a  roll  uv  manuscript  from  his  right 
breast  coat  pocket,  and  sed  he  hed  jotted  down  a  few 
ijees,  wich,  etc. 

I  stood  it  until  some  one  mentioned  me  ez  Chaplin  to 
the  expedition  West,  when  the  pressure  becum  unendur- 
able. They  sposed  I  was  keeper  uv  the  President's  con- 
science, and  I  hed  not  a  minit's  peece  after  that.  In  vain 
I  ashoored  em  that,  there  bein  no  consciences  about  the 
White  House,  no  one  could  hold  sich  a  offis;  in  vain  I 
ashoored  em  that  I  hed  no  influence  with  His  Majesty. 
Two-thirds  uv  em  pulled  applicashens  for  places  they 
wanted  from  the  left  breast  coat  pocket,  and  insistid  on 
my  takin  em,  and  seein  that  they  was  appinted.  I  told  em 
that  I  cood  do  nuthin  for  em ;  but  they  laft  me  to  skorn. 
"You  are  jist  the  style  uv  man,"  said  they,  "who  hez  in- 
flooence  with  His  Eggslency,  and  yoo  must  do  it." 
Hemmed  in,  there  wuz  but  one  way  uv  escape,  and  that 
way  I  took.  Seezin  a  carpet  sack,  wich,  by  the  way,  be- 
longed to  a  delegate  (I  took  it  to  give  myself  the  look  of 
a  traveler),  I  rushed  to  the  depot,  and  startid  home,  en- 
tirely satisfied  that  ef  Cleveland  may  be  taken  as  a  sample, 
the  less  His  Majesty  depends  on  soljers,  the  better. 

Petroleum  V.  Nasby,  P.  M. 

(wich  is  Postmaster), 

and  likewise  late  Chaplain  to  the  expedishn. 

287 


A  LETTER 

P.  S. — I  opened  the  carpet  sack  on  the  train,  spectin  to 
find  a  clean  shirt  in  it,  at  least.  It  contained,  to  my  dis- 
gust, an  address  to  be  read  before  the  Cleveland  Conven- 
tion, a  set  uv  resolutions,  a  speech,  and  a  petition  uv  the 
proprietor  thereof  for  a  collectorship,  signed  by  eight 
hundred  names,  and  a  copy  uv  the  Indiana  State  Direc- 
tory for  1864.  The  names  vi^uz  in  one  hand-writin,  and 
wuz  arranged  alphabetically. 

Petroleum  V.  Nasby. 


^88 


FAMILIAR  AUTHORS  AT  WORK 
,      by  hayden  carruth 

Miss  Tripp 

Miss  Tripp  for  years  has  lived  alone, 
Without  display  or  fuss  or  pother. 

The  house  she  dwells  in  is  her  own — 
She  got  it  from  her  dying  father. 

Miss  T.  delights  in  all  good  works, 

She  goes  to  church  three  times  on  Sunday, 

Her  daily  duty  never  shirks, 

Nor  keeps  her  goodness  for  this  one  day. 

She  loves  to  bake  and  knit  and  sew, 
For  wider  fields  she  doesn't  hanker ; 

Yet  for  the  things  they  have  I  know 
A-many  poor  folk  have  to  thank  her. 

The  simple  life  she  truly  leads. 

She  loves  her  small  domestic  labors ; 

In  spring  she  plants  her  garden  seeds 

And  shares  the  product  with  her  neighbors. 

By  Books  and  Authors  now  I  see 

In  literature  she's  made  a  foray: 
"The  Yellow  Shadow"— said  to  be 
"A  crackerjack  detective-story." 
289 


FAMILIAR    AUTHORS    AT    WORK 

Captain  Brown 

Bluff  Captain  Brown  is  somewhat  queer, 

But  of  the  sea  he's  very  knowing. 
I  scarcely  meet  him  once  a  year — 

He's  off  in  search  of  whales  a-blowing. 

For  fifty  years — perhaps  for  more — 

He's  sailed  about  upon  the  ocean. 
He  thinks  that  if  he  lived  ashore 

He'd  die.  But  this  is  just  a  notion. 

Still  when  the  Captain  comes  to  port 

With  barrels  of  oil  from  whales  caught  napping, 
He'll  pace  the  deck,  and  loudly  snort, 

"This  land  air  is  my  strength  a-sapping. 

*I  call  this  living  on  hard  terms ; 

I  wish  that  I  had  never  seen  land ; 
I  wish  I  were  a-chasing  sperms 

Abaft  the  nor'east  coast  of  Greenland." 

Yet  on  his  latest  cruise,  'tween  whales 
The  Captain  wrote  a  book  most  charming. 

It's  called — and  it  is  having  sales — 
"Some  Practical  Advice  on  Farming." 

T.  H.  Smith 

Tom  Henry  Smith  I  long  have  known 

Although  he  really  is  a  hermit — 
At  least,  Tom  Henry  lives  alone, 

And  that's  what  people  always  term  it. 
290 


HAYDEN    CARRUTH 

Tom  Henry  never  is  annoyed 

By  fashion's  change.  He  wears  a  collar 
Constructed  out  of  celluloid. 

His  hats  ne'er  cost  above  a  dollar. 

Tom  loves  about  his  room  to  mess, 
And  cook  a  sausage  at  the  fireplace. 

It  doesn't  serve  to  help  his  dress — 
Grease  spatters  over  the  entire  place. 

Tom  Henry  likes  to  read  a  book, 
And  writes  a  little  for  the  papers, 

But  scarcely  ever  leaves  his  nook, 
And  takes  no  part  in  social  capers. 

Now  Tom  has  penned  a  book  himself. 

I  hope  he'll  never  feel  compunctions ! 
Its  title  is — it's  on  my  shelf — 

"Pink  Teas  and  Other  Social  Functions." 

Ruth  Jones 

I've  found  the  Joneses  pleasant  folk — 

I've  watched  them  all  their  children  fetch  up. 

Jones  loves  to  have  a  quiet  smoke — 
She's  famous  for  tomato  catchup. 

Ruth  is  their  eldest — now  fifteen, 
A  tallish  girl  with  pleasing  features. 

Each  school-day  morn  she  can  be  seen 
As  she  trips  by  to  meet  her  teachers. 

A  serious-minded  miss,  you'd  say, 
Not  given  much  to  school-girl  follies. 

She  still  sometimes  will  slip  away 

To  spend  a  half-hour  with  her  dollies. 
291 


FAMILIAR   AUTHORS    AT    WORK 

She's  learned  to  sweep,  to  sew,  to  bake — 
She's  quite  a  helpmate  to  her  mother. 

On  Saturday  she  loves  to  take 

The  go-cart  out  with  little  brother. 

At  writing  now  she  bids  for  fame — 
Her  book  a  great  success  is  reckoned. 
"By  Right  of  Flashing  Sword,"  its  name, 
A  strong  romance  of  James  the  Second. 


292 


THE  LOST  WORD 

BY   JOHN    PAUL 

Seated  one  day  at  the  typewriter, 

I  was  weary  of  a's  and  e's, 
And  my  fingers  wandered  wildly, 

Over  the  consonant  keys. 

I  know  not  what  I  was  writing, 
With  that  thing  so  like  a  pen ; 

But  I  struck  one  word  astounding — 
Unknown  to  the  speech  pi  men. 

It  flooded  the  sense  of  my  verses. 
Like  the  break  of  a  tinker's  dam, 

And  I  felt  as  one  feels  when  the  printer 
Of  your  "infinite  calm"  makes  clam. 

It  mixed  up  s's  and  x's 

Like  an  alphabet  coming  to  strife. 
It  seemed  the  discordant  echo 

Of  a  row  between  husband  and  wife. 

It  brought  a  perplexed  meaning 

Into  my  perfect  piece, 
And  set  the  machinery  creaking 

As  though  it  were  scant  of  grease. 
293 


THE   LOST   WORD 

I  have  tried,  but  I  try  it  vainly, 

The  one  last  word  to  divine 
Which  came  from  the  keys  of  my  typewriter 

And  so  would  pass  as  mine. 

It  may  be  some  other  typewriter 
Will  produce  that  word  again, 

It  may  be,  but  only  for  others — 
/  shall  write  henceforth  with  a  pen. 


294 


THE  DUTCHMAN  WHO  HAD  THE  "SMALL 

POX" 

BY    HENRY   P.    LELAND 

Very  dry,  indeed,  is  the  drive  from  Blackberry  to 
Squash  Point, — dry  even  for  New  Jersey ;  and  when  you 
remember  that  it's  fifty  miles  between  the  two  towns,  its 
division  into  five  drinks  seems  very  natural.  When  you 
are  packed,  three  on  one  narrow  seat,  in  a  Jersey  stage,  it 
is  necessary. 

A  Jersey  stage!  It  is  not  on  record,  but  when  Dante 
winds  up  his  Tenth  "Canter"  into  the  Inferno  with — 

Each,  as  his  back  was  laden,  came  indeed 
Or  more  or  less  contracted ;   and  it  seemed 
As  he  who  showed  most  patience  in  his  look. 
Wailing,  exclaimed,  "I  can  endure  no  more  1" 

the  conclusion  that  he  alluded  to  a  crowded  Jersey  stage- 
load  is  irresistible.  A  man  with  long  legs,  on  a  back 
seat,  in  one  of  these  vehicles,  suffers  like  a  snipe  shurup 
in  a  snuff-box.  For  this  reason,  the  long-legged  man 
should  sit  on  the  front  seat  with  the  driver;  there,  like 
the  hen-turkey  who  tried  to  sit  on  a  hundred  eggs,  he 
can  "spread  himself."  The  writer  sat  alongside  the  driver 
one  morning,  just  at  break  of  day,  as  the  stage  drove  out 
of  Blackberry:  he  was  a  through  passenger  to  Squash 
Point.  It  was  a  very  cold  morning.  In  order  to  break  the 
ice  for  a  conversation,  he  praised  the  fine  points  of  an 
off  horse.  The  driver  thawed : 

295 


DUTCHMAN  WHO  HAD  THE  "SMALL  POX" 

"Ya-as;  she's  a  goot  boss,  und  I  knows  how  to  trive 
him !"   It  was  evidently  a  case  of  mixed  breed. 

"Where  is  Wood,  who  used  to  drive  this  stage  ?" 

"He  he's  lait  up  mit  ter  rummatiz  sence  yesterweek, 
und  I  trives  for  him.  So — "  I  went  on  reading  a  news- 
paper :  a  fellow-passenger,  on  a  back  seat,  not  having  the 
fear  of  murdered  English  on  his  hands,  coaxed  the  Dutch 
driver  into  a  long  conversation,  much  to  the  delight  of  a 
very  pretty  Jersey-blue  belle,  who  laughed  so  merrily  that 
it  was  contagious ;  and  in  a  few  minutes,  from  being  like 
unto  a  conventicle,  we  were  all  as  wide  awake  as  one  of 
Christy's  audiences.  By  sunrise  we  were  in  excellent 
spirits,  up  to  all  sorts  of  fun ;  and  when,  a  little  later  on, 
our  stage  stopped  at  the  first  watering-place,  the  driver 
found  himself  the  center  of  a  group  of  treaters  to  the  dis- 
tilled "juice  of  apples."  It  is  just  as  easy  to  say  "apple- 
jack," and  be  done  with  it ;  but  the  writer,  being  very  anx- 
ious to  form  a  style,  cribs  from  all  quarters.  The  so  oft- 
repeated  expression  "juice  of  the  grape"  has  been  for  a 
long  time  on  his  hands,  and,  wishing  to  work  it  up,  he 
would  have  done  it  in  this  case,  only  he  fears  the  skep- 
ticism of  his  readers.  By  courtesy,  they  may  wink  at  the 
poetical  license  of  a  reporter  of  a  public  dinner  who  calls 
turnip-juice  and  painted  whisky  "juice  of  the  grape,"  but 
they  would  not  allow  the  existence,  for  one  minute,  of 
such  application  to  the  liquors  of  a  Jersey  tavern.  It's 
out  of  place. 

"Here's  a  package  to  leave  at  Mr.  Scudder's,  the  third 
house  on  the  left-hand  side  after  you  get  into  Jericho. 
What  do  you  charge?"  asked  a  man  who  seemed  to  know 
the  driver. 

"Pout  a  leffy,"  answered  he.  Receiving  the  silver,  he 
gathered  up  the  reins,  and  put  the  square  package  in  the 
stage-box.    Just  as  he  started  the  horses,  he  leaned  his 

296 


HENRY    P.    LELAND 

head  out  of  the  stage,  and,  looking  back  to  the  man  who 
gave  him  the  package,  shouted  out  the  question : 

"Ter  fird  haus  on  ter  lef  hant  out  of  Yeriko?"  The 
man  didn't  hear  him,  but  the  driver  was  satisfied.  On  we 
went  at  a  pretty  good  rate,  considering  how  heavy  the 
roads  were.  Another  tavern,  more  watering,  more  ap- 
ple-jack. Another  long  stretch  of  sand,  and  we  were  com- 
ing into  Jericho. 

"Anypotty  know  ter  Miss  Scutter  haus?"  asked  the 
driver,  bracing  his  feet  on  the  mail-bag  which  lay  in  front 
of  him,  and  screwing  his  head  round  so  as  to  face  in. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  consultation  going  on  inside  the 
stage. 

*T  don't  know  nobody  o'  that  name  in  Jericho.  Do  you, 
Lishe?"  asked  a  weather-beaten-looking  man,  who  evi- 
dently "went  by  water,"  of  another  one  who  apparently 
went  the  same  way. 

"There  wos  ole  Square  Gow's  da'ter,  she  marri'd  a 
Scudder;  moved  up  here  some  two  years  back.  Come  to 
think  on't,  guess  she  lives  nigher  to  Glass-house,"  an- 
swered Lishe. 

The  driver,  finding  he  could  get  no  light  out  of  the 
passengers,  seeing  a  tall,  raw-boned  woman  washing  some 
clothes  in  front  of  a  house,  and  who  flew  out  of  sight  as 
the  stage  flew  in,  handed  me  the  reins  as  he  jumped  from 
his  seat  and  chased  the  fugitive,  hallooing, — 

"I'fe  got  der  small  pox,  I'fe  got  der — "  Here  his  voice 
was  lost  as  he  dashed  into  the  open  door  of  the  house. 
But  in  a  minute  he  reappeared,  followed  by  a  broom  with 
an  enraged  woman  annexed,  and  a  loud  voice  shouting 
out, — 

"You  git  out  of  this !  Clear  yourself,  quicker !  I  ain't 
goin'  to  have  you  diseasin'  honest  folks,  ef  you  have  got 
the  smallpox." 

297 


DUTCHMAN  WHO  HAD  THE  "SMALL  POX" 

"I  dells  you  I'fe  got  der  small  pox.  Ton't  you  versteh? 
der  SMALL  POX !"  This  time  he  shouted  it  out  in  capital 
letters ! 

"Clear  outl  I'll  call  the  men- folks  ef  you  don't  clear;" 
and  at  once  she  shouted,  in  a  tip-top  voice,  "Ike,  you  Ike, 
where  air  you  ?" 

Ike  made  his  appearance  on  the  full  run. 

"W-w-what's  the  matter,  mother  ?" — Miss  Scudder  his 
mother !  I  should  have  been  shocked,  as  I  was  on  my  first 
visit  to  New  Jersey,  if  I  had  not  had  a  key  to  this.  "That 
is  a  very  pretty  girl,"  I  said  on  that  occasion  to  a  Jersey- 
man;  "who  is  she?" — "She's  old  Miss  Perrine's  da'ter," 
was  the  reply.  I  looked  at  the  innocent  victim  of  man's 
criminal  conduct  with  commiseration.  "What  a  pity!"  I 
remarked. 

"Not  such  a  very  great  pity,"  said  Jersey,  eying  me 
very  severely.  "I  reckon  old  man  Perrine's  got  as  big  a 
cedar-swamp  as  you,  pr  I  either,  would  like  to  own." 

"Her  grandfather  you  speak  of?" 

"No,  I  don't:  I'm  talking  'bout  her  father, — he  that 
married  Abe  Simm's  da'ter  and  got  a  power  of  land  by 
it;  and  that  gal,  their  da'ter,  one  of  these  days  will  step 
right  into  them  swamps." 

"Oh,"  I  replied,  "Mrs.  Perrine's  daughter,"  accenting 
the  "Missis!" 

"Mussus  or  Miss,  it's  all  the  same  in  Jersey,"  he  an- 
swered. 

Knowing  this,  Ike's  appeal  was  intelligible.  To  pro- 
ceed with  our  story,  the  driver,  very  angry  by  this  time, 
shouted, — 

"I  dells  you  oonst  more  for  der  last  dime.  I'fe  got  der 
small  pox !  unt  Mishter  Ellis  he  gifs  me  a  leffy  to  gif  der 
small  pox  to  Miss  Scutter;  unt  if  dat  vrow  is  Miss  Scut- 
ter,  I  bromised  to  gif  her  ter  small  pox." 

298 


HENRY    P.    LELAND 

It  was  Miss  Scudder,  and  I  explained  to  her  that  it  was 
a  small  box  he  had  for  her.  The  affair  was  soon  settled  as 
regarded  its  delivery,  but  not  as  regards  the  laughter  and 
shouts  of  the  occupants  of  the  old  stage-coach  as  we  rolled 
away  from  Jericho.  The  driver  joined  in,  although  he 
had  no  earthly  idea  as  to  its  cause,  and  added  not  a  little 
to  it  by  saying,  in  a  triumphant  tone  of  voice, — 

"I  vps  pound  to  gif  ter  olt  voomans  ter  small  pox !" 


299 


WALK 


BY   WILLIAM   DEVERE 


Up  the  dusty  road  from  Denver  town 
To  where  the  mines  their  treasures  hide, 
The  road  is  long,  and  many  miles, 
The  golden  styre  and  town  divide. 
Along  this  road  one  summer's  day, 
There  toiled  a  tired  man. 
Begrimed  with  dust,  the  weary  way 
He  cussed,  as  some  folks  can. 
The  stranger  hailed  a  passing  team 
That  slowly  dragged  its  load  along; 
His  hail  roused  up  the  teamster  old, 
And  checked  his  merry  song. 
"Say-y,  stranger!"   "Wal,  whoap." 

"Ken  I  walk  behind  your  load 
A  spell  in  this  road?" 
"Wal,  no,  yer  can't  walk,  but  git 
XJp  on  this  seat  an'  ride ;  git  up  hyer." 
"Nop,  that  ain't  what  I  want. 
Fur  it's  in  yer  dust,  that's  like  a  smudge, 
I  want  to  trudge,  for  I  desarve  it." 
"Wal,  pards,  I  ain't  no  hog,  an'  I  don't 
Own  this  road,  afore  nor  'hind. 
So  jest  git  right  in  the  dust 
An'  walk,  if  that's  the  way  yer  'clined. 
300 


WILLIAM    DEVERE 

Gee  up,  ger  lang!"  the  driver  said. 
The  creaking  wagon  moved  amain, 
While  close  behind  the  stranger  trudged, 
And  clouds  of  dust  rose  up  again. 

The  teamster  heard  the  stranger  talk 
As  if  two  trudged  behind  his  van, 
Yet,  looking  'round,  could  only  spy 
A  single  lonely  man. 
Yet  heard  the  teamster  w:ords  like  these 
Come  from  the  dust  as  from  a  cloud. 
For  the  weary  traveler  spoke  his  mind. 
His  thoughts  he  uttered  loud, 
And  this  the  burden  of  his  talk : 

"Walk,  now,  you ,  walk ! 

Not  the  way  you  went  to  Denver  ? 
Walk, • !  Jest  walk ! 

"Went  up  in  the  mines  an'  made  yer  stake, 
'Nuff  to  take  yer  back  to  ther  state 
Whar  yer  wur  born. 
Whar'n  hell's  yer  corn? 
Wal,  walk,  you ,  walk ! 

"Dust  in  yer  eyes,  dust  in  yer  nose, 
Dust  down  yer  throat,  and  thick 
On  yer  clothes.    Can't  hardly  talk  ? 
I  know  it,  but  walk,  you ,  walk ! 

"What  did  yer  do  with  all  yer  tin  ? 
Ya-s,  blew  every  cent  of  it  in ; 
Got  drunk,  got  sober,  got  drunk  agin. 
Wal,  walk, !  Jest  walk. 

301 


WALK 

"What  did  yer  do?    What  didn't  yer  do? 
Why,  when  ye  war  thar,  yer  gold-dust  flew, 
Yer  thought  it  fine  to  keep  op'nin'  wine. 
Now  walk,  you ,  walk. 

"Stop  to  drink?    What— water? 

Why,  thar 

Water  with  you  warn't  anywhere, 

'Twas  wine.  Extra  Dry.    Oh, 

You  flew  high — 

Now  walk,  you ,  walk. 

"Chokes  yer,  this  dust  ?    Wal,  that 

Ain't  the  wust, 

When  yer  get  back  whar  the 

Diggins  are 

No  pick,  no  shovel,  no  pan ; 

Wal,  yer  a  healthy  man, 

Walk— jest  walk." 

The  fools  don't  all  go  to  Denver  town, 
Nor  do  they  all  from  the  mines  come  down. 
'Most  all  of  us  have  in  our  day — 
In  some  sort  of  shape,  some  kind  of  way — 
Painted  the  town  with  the  old  stuff, 
Dipped  in  stocks  or  made  some  bluff, 
Mixed  wines,  old  and  new. 
Got  caught  in  wedlock  by  a  shrew. 
Stayed  out  all  night,  tight, 
Rolled  home  in  the  morning  light, 
With  crumpled  tie  and  torn  clawhammer, 
'N*  woke  up  next  day  with  a  katzen jammer, 

And  walked,  oh ,  how  we  walked. 

302 


WILLIAM   DEVERE 

Now,  don't  try  to  yank  every  bun, 
Don't  try  to  have  all  the  fun, 
Don't  think  that  you  know  it  all, 
Don't  think  real  estate  won't  fall, 
Don't  try  to  bluff  on  an  ace, 
Don't  get  stuck  on  a  pretty  face, 
Don't  believe  every  jay's  talk — 
For  if  you  do  you  can  bet  you'll  walk ! 


303 


MR.  DOOLEY  ON  GOLD-SEEKING 

BY   FINLEY   PETER   DUNNE 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  "that  Alaska's  th' 
gr-reat  place.  I  thought  'twas  nawthin'  but  an  iceberg 
with  a  few  seals  roostin'  pn  it,  an'  wan  or  two  hundherd 
Ohio  politicians  that  can't  be  killed  on  account  iv  th' 
threaty  iv  Pawrs.  But  here  they  tell  me  'tis  fairly  smoth- 
ered in  goold.  A  man  stubs  his  toe  on  th'  ground,  an'  lifts 
th'  top  off  iv  a  goold  mine.  Ye  go  to  bed  at  night,  an' 
wake  up  with  goold  fillin'  in  ye'er  teeth." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Dooley,  "Clancy's  son  was  in  here  this 
mornin',  an'  he  says  a  frind  iv  his  wint  to  sleep  out  in  th' 
open  wan  night,  an'  whin  he  got  up  his  pants  assayed 
four  ounces  iv  goold  to  th'  pound,  an'  his  whiskers  panned 
out  as  much  as  thirty  dollars  net." 

"If  I  was  a  young  man  an'  not  tied  down  here,"  said 
Mr.  Hennessy,  "I'd  go  there:  I  wud  so." 

"I  wud  not,"  said  Mr.  Dooley.  "Whin  I  was  a  young 
man  in  th'  ol'  counthry,  we  heerd  th'  same  story  about  all 
America.  We  used  to  set  be  th'  tur-rf  fire  o'  nights,  kickin' 
our  bare  legs  on  th'  flure  an'  wishin'  we  was  in  New  York, 
where  all  ye  had  to  do  was  to  hold  ye'er  hat  an'  th'  goold 
guineas'd  dhrop  into  it.  An'  whin  I  got  to  be  a  man,  I 
come  over  here  with  a  ham  and  a  bag  iv  oatmeal,  as  sure 
that  I'd  return  in  a  year  with  money  enough  to  dhrive 
me  own  ca-ar  as  I  was  that  me  name  was  Martin  Dooley. 
An'  that  was  a  cinch. 

"But,  faith,  whin  I'd  been  here  a  week,  I  seen  that 

304 


FINLEY    PETER    DUNNE 

there  was  nawthin'  but  mud  undher  th'  pavement, — I 
lamed  that  be  means  iv  a  pick-axe  at  tin  shilHn's  th'  day, 
— an'  that,  though  there  was  plenty  Iv  goold,  thim  that 
had  it  were  froze  to  it;  an'  I  come  west,  still  lookin'  fr 
mines.  Th'  on'y  mine  I  sthruck  at  Pittsburgh  was  a  hole 
fr  sewer  pipe.  I  made  it.  Siven  shillin's  th'  day.  Smaller 
thin  New  York,  but  th'  livin'  was  cheaper,  with  Mon'ga- 
hela  rye  at  five  a  throw,  put  ye'er  hand  around  th'  glass. 

"I  was  still  dreamin'  goold,  an'  I  wint  down  to  Saint 
Looey.  Th'  nearest  I  come  to  a  fortune  there  was  findin' 
a  quarther  on  th'  sthreet  as  I  leaned  over  th'  dashboord  iv 
a  car  to  whack  th'  off  mule.  Whin  I  got  to  Chicago,  I 
looked  around  fr  the  goold  mine.  They  was  Injuns  here 
thin.  But  they  wasn't  anny  mines  I  cud  see.  They  was 
mud  to  be  shovelled  an'  dhrays  to  be  dhruv  an'  beats  to 
be  walked.  I  choose  th'  dhray;  f  r  I  was  niver  cut  out  f  r 
a  copper,  an'  I'd  had  me  fill  iv  excavatin'.  An'  I  dhruv 
th'  dhray  till  I  wint  into  business. 

"Me  experyence  with  goold  minin'  is  it's  always  in  th* 
nex'  county.  If  I  was  to  go  to  Alaska,  they'd  tell  me  iv 
th'  finds  in  Seeberya.  So  I  think  I'll  stay  here.  I'm  a 
silver  man,  annyhow;  an'  I'm  contint  if  I  can  see  goold 
wanst  a  year,  whin  some  prominent  citizen  smiles  over 
his  newspaper.  I'm  thinkin'  that  ivry  man  has  a  goold 
mine  undher  his  own  dure-step  or  in  his  neighbor's  pocket 
at  th'  farthest." 

"Well,  annyhow,"  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  "I'd  like  to  kick 
up  th'  sod,  an'  find  a  ton  iv  gold  undher  me  fut." 

"What  wud  ye  do  if  ye  found  it?"  demanded  Mr. 
Dooley. 

"I — I  dinnaw,"  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  whose  dreaming 
had  not  gone  this  far.  Then,  recovering  himself,  he  ex- 
claimed with  great  enthusiasm,  "I'd  throw  up  me  job  an' 
— an'  live  like  a  prince." 

30s 


MR,    DOOLEY   ON   GOLD-SEEKING 

"I  tell  ye  what  ye'd  do,"  said  Mr.  Dooley.  "Ye'd  come 
back  here  an'  sthrut  up  an'  down  th'  sthreet  with  ye'er 
thumbs  in  ye'er  armpits;  an'  ye'd  dhrink  too  much,  an* 
ride  in  sthreet  ca-ars.  Thin  ye'd  buy  foldin'  beds  an' 
piannies,  an'  start  a  reel  estate  office.  Ye'd  be  fooled  a 
good  deal  an'  lose  a  lot  iv  ye'er  money,  an'  thin  ye'd 
tighten  up.  Ye'd  be  in  a  cold  fear  night  an'  day  that  ye'd 
lose  ye'er  fortune.  Ye'd  wake  up  in  th'  middle  iv  th'  night, 
dhrcamin'  that  ye  was  back  at  th'  gas-house  with  ye'er 
money  gone.  Ye'd  be  prisidint  iv  a  charitable  society. 
Ye'd  have  to  wear  ye'er  shoes  in  th'  house,  an'  ye'er  wife'd 
have  ye  around  to  rayciptions  an'  dances.  Ye'd  move  to 
Mitchigan  Avnoo,  an'  ye'd  hire  a  coachman  that'd  laugh 
at  ye.  Ye'er  boys'd  be  joods  an'  ashamed  iv  ye,  an'  ye'd 
support  ye'er  daughters'  husbands.  Ye'd  rackrint  ye'er 
tinants  an'  lie  about  ye'er  taxes.  Ye'd  go  back  to  Ireland 
on  a  visit,  an'  put  on  airs  with  ye'er  cousin  Mike.  Ye'd 
be  a  mane,  close-fisted,  onscrupulous  ol'  curmudgeon ;  an', 
whin  ye'd  die,  it'd  take  haf  ye'er  fortune  f'r  rayqueems  to 
put  ye  r-right.  I  don't  want  ye  iver  to  speak  to  me  whin 
ye  get  rich,  Hinnissy." 

"I  won't,"  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 


306 


LOVE  SONNETS  OF  A  HOODLUM 

BY   WALLACE   IRWIN 


Say,  will  she  treat  me  white,  or  throw  me  down, 
Give  me  the  glassy  glare,  or  welcome  hand. 
Shovel  me  dirt,  or  treat  me  on  the  grand, 
Knife  me,  or  make  me  think  I  own  the  town? 
Will  she  be  on  the  level,  do  me  brown. 
Or  will  she  jolt  me  lightly  on  the  sand, 
Leaving  poor  Willie  froze  to  beat  the  band, 
Limp  as  your  grandma's  Mother  Hubbard  gown  ? 

I  do  not  know,  nor  do  I  give  a  whoop, 

But  this  I  know :  if  she  is  so  inclined 

She  can  come  play  with  me  on  our  back  stopp, 

Even  in  office  hours,  I  do  not  mind — 

In  fact  I  know  I'm  nice  and  good  and  ready 

To  get  an  option  on  her  as  my  steady. 

VIII 

I  sometimes  think  that  I  am  not  so  good. 
That  there  are  foxier,  warmer  babes  than  I, 
That  Fate  has  given  me  the  calm  go-by 
And  my  long  suit  is  sawing  mother's  wood. 
Then  would  I  duck  from  under  if  I  could, 
Catch  the  hog  special  on  the  jump  and  fly 
To  some  Goat  Island  planned  by  destiny 
For  dubs  and  has-beens  and  that  splemn  brood. 
307 


LOVE  SONNETS  OF  A  HOODLUM 

But  spite  of  bug-wheels  in  my  cocoa  tree, 

The  trade  in  lager  beer  is  still  a-humming, 

A  schooner  can  be  purchased  for  a  V 

Or  even  grafted  if  you're  fierce  at  bumming. 

My  finish  then  less  clearly  do  I  see, 

For  lo !  I  have  another  think  a-coming. 


IX 


Last  night  I  tumbled  off  the  water  cart — 
It  was  a  peacherino  of  a  drunk ; 
I  put  the  cocktail  market  on  the  punk 
And  tore  up  all  the  sidewalks  from  the  start. 
The  package  that  I  carried  was  a  tart 
That  beat  Vesuvius  out  for  sizz  and  spunk, 
And  when  they  put  me  in  my  little  bunk 
You  couldn't  tell  my  jag  and  me  apart. 

Oh !  would  I  were  the  ice  man  for  a  space, 
Then  might  I  cool  this  red-hot  cocoanut, 
Corral  the  jim-jam  bugs  that  madly  race 
Around  the  eaves  that  from  my  forehead  jut — 
Or  will  a  carpenter  please  come  instead 
And  build  a  picket  fence  around  my  head  ? 

XII 

Life  is  a  combination  hard  to  buck, 
A  proposition  difficult  to  beat, 
E'en  though  you  get  there  Zaza  with  both  feet, 
In  forty  flickers,  it's  the  same  hard  luck. 
And  you  are  up  against  it  nip  and  tuck. 
Shanghaied  without  a  steady  place  to  eat. 
Guyed  by  the  very  copper  on  your  beat 
Whp  lays  to  jug  you  when  you  run  amuck. 
308 


WALLACE    IRWIN 

O  Life !  you  give  Yours  Truly  quite  a  pain. 
On  the  T  square  I  do  not  like  your  style ; 
For  you  are  playing  favorites  again 
And  you  have  got  me  handicapped  a  mile. 
Avaunt,  false  Life,  with  all  your  pride  and  pelf: 
Go  take  a  running  jump  and  chase  yourself! 

XIV 

0  mommer !  wasn't  Mame  a  looty  toot 
Last  night  when  at  the  Rainbow  Social  Club 
She  did  the  bunny  hug  with  every  scrub 
From  Hogan's  Alley  to  the  Dutchman's  Boot, 
While  little  Willie,  like  a  plug-eared  mute. 
Papered  the  wall  and  helped  absorb  the  grub, 
Played  nest-egg  with  the  benches  like  a  dub 
When  hot  society  was  easy  fruit ! 

Am  I  a  turnip  ?    On  the  strict  Q.  T., 

Why  do  my  Trilbys  get  so  ossified? 

Why  am  I  minus  when  it's  up  to  me 

To  brace  my  Paris  Pansy  for  a  glide? 

Once  more  my  hoodoo's  thrown  the  game  and  scored 

A  flock  of  zeros  on  my  tally-board. 

XXI 

At  noon  to-day  Murphy  and  Mame  were  tied. 
A  gospel  huckster  did  the  referee. 
And  all  the  Drug  Clerks'  Union  loped  to  see 
The  queen  of  Minnie  Street  become  a  bride. 
And  that  bad  actor,  Murphy,  by  her  side. 
Standing  where  Yours  Despondent  ought  to  be. 

1  went  to  hang  a  smile  in  front  of  me. 

But  weeps  were  in  my  glimmers  when  I  tried. 
309 


LOVE  SONNETS  OF  A  HOODLUM 

The  pastor  murmured,  "Two  and  twp  make  one/ 
And  slipped  a  sixteen  K  on  Mamie's  grab; 
And  when  the  game  was  tied  and  all  was  done 
The  guests  shied  footwear  at  the  bridal  cab, 
And  Murphy's  little  gilt-roofed  brother  Jim 
Snickered,  "She's  left  her  happy  home  for  him." 


310 


HOW  "RUBY''  PLAYED 

BY   GEORGE   W.    BAGBY 

(Jud  Brownin,  when  visiting  New  York,  goes  to  hear 
Rubinstein,  and  gives  the  following  description  of  his 
playing.), 

Well,  sir,  Ke  had  the  blamedest,  biggest,  catty-corner- 
dest  planner  you  ever  laid  eyes  on ;  somethin'  like  a  dis- 
tracted billiard-table  on  three  legs.  The  lid  was  hoisted, 
and  mighty  well  it  was.  If  it  hadn't  been,  he'd  'a'  tore  the 
entire  inside  clean  out  and  shattered  'em  to  the  four  winds 
of  heaven. 

Played  well?  You  bet  he  did;  but  don't  interrupt 
me.  When  he  first  sit  down  he  'peared  to  keer  mighty 
little  'bout  playin'  and  wisht  he  hadn't  come.  He  tweedle- 
leedled  a  little  on  a  treble,  and  twoodle-oodled  some  on 
the  base, — just  foolin'  and  boxin'  the  thing's  jaws  for  be- 
in'  in  his  way.  And  I  says  to  a  man  sittin'  next  to  me, 
says  I,  "What  sort  of  fool  playin'  is  that?"  And  he  says, 
"Helsh!"  But  presently  his  hands  commenced  chasin' 
one  another  up  and  down  the  keys,  like  a  passel  of  rats 
scamperin'  through  a  garret  very  swift.  Parts  of  it  was 
sweet,  though,  and  reminded  me  of  a  sugar  squirrel  turn- 
in'  the  wheel  of  a  candy  cage. 

"Now,"  I  says  to  my  neighbor,  "he's  showin'  off.  He 
thinks  he's  a-doin'  of  it,  but  he  ain't  got  no  idee,  no  plan 
of  nothin'.  If  he'd  play  me  a  tune  of  some  kind  or  other, 
I'd—" 

But  my  neighbor  says,  "Heish !"  very  impatient. 

I  was  just  about  to  git  up  and  go  home,  bein'  tired  of 

'311 


HOW    "RUBY"    PLAYED 

that  foolishness,  when  I  heard  a  little  bird  waking  up 
away  off  in  the  woods  and  call  sleepy-like  to  his  mate, 
and  I  looked  up  and  see  that  Rubin  was  beginning-  to  take 
some  interest  in  his  business,  and  I  sit  down  again.  It 
was  the  peep  of  day.  The  light  came  faint  from  the  east, 
the  breezes  blowed  gentle  and  fresh,  some  more  birds 
waked  up  in  the  orchard,  then  some  more  in  the  trees  near 
the  house,  and  all  begun  singin'  together.  People  began 
to  stir,  and  the  gal  opened  the  shutters.  Just  then  the 
first  beam  of  the  sun  fell  upon  the  blossoms  a  leetle  more, 
and  it  techt  the  roses  on  the  bushes,  and  the  next  thing  it 
was  broad  day;  the  sun  fairly  blazed,  the  birds  sung  like 
they'd  split  their  little  throats ;  all  the  leaves  was  movin', 
and  flashin'  diamonds  of  dew,  and  the  whole  wide  world 
was  bright  and  happy  as  a  king.  Seemed  to  me  like  there 
was  a  good  breakfast  in  every  house  in  the  land,  and  not 
a  sick  child  or  woman  anywhere.  It  was  a  fine  mornin'. 
And  I  says  to  my  neighbor,  "That's  music,  that  is." 
But  he  glared  at  me  like  he'd  like  to  cut  my  throat. 
Presently  the  wind  turned ;  it  begun  to  thicken  up,  and 
a  kind  of  gray  mist  came  over  things ;  I  got  low-spirited 
directly.  Then  a  silver  rain  began  to  fall.  I  could  see  the 
drops  touch  the  ground;  some  flashed  up  like  long  pearl 
ear-rings,  and  the  rest  rolled  away  like  round  rubies.  It 
was  pretty,  but  melancholy.  Then  the  pearls  gathered 
themselves  into  long  strands  and  necklaces,  and  then  they 
melted  into  thin  silver  streams,  running  between  golden 
gravels,  and  then  the  streams  joined  each  other  at  the 
bottom  of  the  hill,  and  made  a  brook  that  flowed  silent, 
except  that  you  could  kinder  see  the  music,  especially 
when  the  bushes  on  the  banks  moved  as  the  music  went 
along  down  the  valley.  I  could  smell  the  flowers  in  the 
meadow.  But  the  sun  didn't  shine,  nor  the  birds  sing :  it 
was  a  foggy  day,  but  not  cold. 

312 


GEORGE   W.   BAGBY 

The  most  curious  thing  was  the  little  white  angel-boy, 
like  you  see  in  pictures,  that  run  ahead  of  the  music  brook 
and  led  it  on,  and  on,  away  out  of  the  world,  where  no 
man  ever  was,  certain,  I  could  see  the  boy  just  as  plain  as 
I  see  you.  Then  the  moonlight  came,  without  any  sunset, 
and  shone  on  the  graveyards,  where  some  few  ghosts 
lifted  their  hands  and  went  over  the  wall,  and  between  the 
black,  sharp-top  trees  splendid  marble  houses  rose  up, 
with  fine  ladies  in  the  lit-up  windows,  and  men  that  loved 
'em,  but  could  never  get  anigh  'em,  who  played  on  guitars 
under  the  trees,  and  made  me  that  miserable  I  could  have 
cried,  because  I  wanted  to  love  somebody,  I  don't  know 
who,  better  than  the  men  with  the  guitars  did. 

Then  the  sun  went  down,  it  got  dark,  the  wind  moaned 
and  wept  like  a  lost  child  for  its  dead  mother,  and  I  could 
'a'  got  up  then  and  there  and  preached  a  better  sermon 
than  any  I  ever  listened  to.  There  wasn't  a  thing  in  the 
world  left  to  live  for,  not  a  blame  thing,  and  yet  I  didn't 
want  the  music  to  stop  one  bit.  It  was  happier  to  be 
miserable  than  to  be  happy  without  being  miserable.  I 
couldn't  understand  it.  I  hung  my  head  and  pulled  out 
my  handkerchief,  and  blowed  my  nose  loud  to  keep  me 
from  cryin'.  My  eyes  is  weak  anyway;  I  didn't  want 
anybody  to  be  a-gazin'  at  me  a-sniv'lin',  and  it's  nobody's 
business  what  I  do  with  my  nose.  It's  mine.  But  some 
several  glared  at  me  mad  as  blazes.  Then,  all  of  a  sud- 
den, old  Rubin  changed  his  tune.  He  ripped  out  and  he 
rared,  he  tipped  and  he  tared,  he  pranced  and  he  charged 
like  the  grand  entry  at  a  circus.  'Feared  to  me  that  all 
the  gas  in  the  house  was  turned  on  at  once,  things  got  so 
bright,  and  I  hilt  up  my  head,  ready  to  look  any  man  in 
the  face,  and  not  afraid  of  nothin'.  It  was  a  circus  and  a 
brass  band  and  a  big  ball  all  goin'  on  at  the  same  time.  He 
lit  into  them  keys  like  a  thousand  of  brick;  he  give  'em 

313 


HOW    "RUBY"    PLAYED 

no  rest  'day  or  night ;  lie  set  every  livin'  joint  in  me  a-goin*, 
and,  not  bein'  able  to  stand  it  no  longer,  I  jumped  spang 
onto  my  seat,  and  jest  hollered, — 

"Go  it,  my  Rube!" 

Every  blame  man,  woman  and  child  in  the  house  riz  on 
me,  and  shouted,  "Put  him  out !  put  him  out !" 

"Put  your  great-grandmother's  grizzly  gray  greenish 
cat  into  the  middle  of  next  month !"  I  says.  "Tech  me  if 
you  dare!  I  paid  my  money,  and  you  jest  come  anigh 
me!" 

With  that  some  several  policemen  run  up,  and  I  had  to 
simmer  down.  But  I  would  'a'  fit  any  fool  that  laid  hands 
on  me,  for  I  was  bound  to  hear  Ruby  out  or  die. 

He  had  changed  his  tune  again.  He  hop-light  ladies 
and  tip-toed  fine  from  end  to  end  of  the  key-board.  He 
played  soft  and  low  and  solemn.  I  heard  the  church  bells 
over  the  hills.  The  candles  of  heaven  was  lit,  one  by  one ; 
I  saw  the  stars  rise.  The  great  organ  of  eternity  began 
to  play  from  the  world's  end  to  the  world's  end,  and  all  the 
angels  went  to  prayers.  .  .  .  Then  the  music  changed 
to  water,  full  of  feeling  that  couldn't  be  thought,  and  be- 
gan to  drop — drip,  drop — drip,  drop,  clear  and  sweet,  like 
tears  of  joy  falling  into  a  lake  of  glory.  It  was  sweeter 
than  that.  It  was  as  sweet  as  a  sweet-heart  sweetened  with 
white  sugar  mixed  with  powdered  silver  and  seed-dia- 
monds. It  was  too  sweet.  I  tell  you  the  audience  cheered. 
Rubin  he  kinder  bowed,  like  he  wanted  to  say,  ''Much 
obleeged,  but  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't  interrup'  me." 

He  stopped  a  moment  or  two  to  catch  breath.  Then  he 
got  mad.  He  run  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  he  shoved 
up  his  sleeve,  he  opened  his  coat-tails  a  leetle  further,  he 
drug  up  his  stool,  he  leaned  over,  and,  sir,  he  just  went 
for  that  old  planner.  He  slapped  her  face,  he  boxed  her 
jaws,  he  pulled  her  nose,  he  pinched  her  ears,  and  he 

314 


GEORGE   W.    BAGBY 

scratcheH  her  cheeks,  until  she  fairly  yelled.  He  knocked 
her  down  and  he  stamped  on  her  shameful.  She  bellowed 
like  a  bull,  she  bleated  like  a  calf,  she  howled  like  a  hound, 
she  squealed  like  a  pig,  she  shrieked  like  a  rat,  and  then 
he  wouldn't  let  her  up.  He  run  a  quarter  stretch  down 
the  low  grounds  of  the  base,  till  he  got  clean  in  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,  and  you  heard  thunder  galloping  after  thun- 
der through  the  hollows  and  caves  of  perdition ;  and  then 
he  fox-chased  his  right  hand  with  his  left  till  he  got  'way 
out  of  the  treble  into  the  clouds,  whar  the  notes  was  finer 
than  the  p'ints  of  cambric  needles,  and  you  couldn't  hear 
nothin'  but  the  shadders  of  'em.  And  then  he  wouldn't 
let  the  old  planner  go.  He  for'ard  two'd,  he  crost  over 
first  gentleman,  he  chassade  right  and  left,  back  to  your 
places,  he  all  hands'd  aroun',  ladies  to  the  right,  prome- 
nade all,  in  and  out,  here  and  there,  back  and  forth,  up 
and  down,  perpetual  motion,  double  twisted  and  turned 
and  tacked  and  tangled  into  forty-eleven  thousand  double 
bow-knots. 

By  jinks !  it  was  a  mixtery.  And  then  he  wouldn't  let 
the  old  planner  go.  He  fetcht  up  his  right  wing,  he  fetcht 
up  his  left  wing,  he  fetcht  up  his  center,  he  fetcht  up  his 
reserves.  He  fired  by  file,  he  fired  by  platoons,  by  com- 
pany, by  regiments,  and  by  brigades.  He  opened  his  can- 
non,— siege-guns  down  thar,  Napoleons  here,  twelve- 
pounders  yonder, — big  guns,  little  guns,  middle-sized 
guns,  round  shot,  shells,  shrapnels,  grape,  canister,  mor- 
tar, mines  and  magazines,  every  livin'  battery  and  bomb 
a-goin'  at  the  same  time.  The  house  trembled,  the  lights 
danced,  the  walls  shuk,  the  floor  come  up,  the  ceilin'  come 
down,  the  sky  split,  the  ground  rocked — heavens  and  earth, 
creation,  sweet  potatoes,  Moses,  ninepences,  glory,  ten- 
penny  nails,  Samson  in  a  'simmon-tree.  Tump  Tompson 
in  a  tumbler-cart,  roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle-ruddle-uddle- 

315 


HOW    "RUBY"    PLAYED 

uddle-iiddle — raddle-addle-eedle — riddle-iddle-iddle-iddle 
— reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle — p-r-r-r-rlank !  Bang ! ! !  lang ! 
perlang !  p-r-r-r-r-r ! !  Bang ! ! ! ! 

With  that  bang!  he  hfted  himself  bodily  into  the  a'r, 
and  he  come  down  with  his  knees,  his  ten  fingers,  his  ten 
toes,  his  elbows,  and  his  nose,  striking  every  single  soli- 
tary key  on  the  pianner  at  the  same  time.  The  thing  busted 
and  went  off  into  seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-seven  thou- 
sand five  hundred  and  forty-two  hemi-demi-semi-quivers, 
and  I  know'd  no  mo'. 

When  I  come  to,  I  were  under  ground  about  twenty 
foot,  in  a  place  they  call  Oyster  Bay,  treatin'  a  Yankee 
that  I  never  laid  eyes  on  before  and  never  expect  to  ag'in. 
Day  was  breakin'  by  the  time  I  got  to  the  St.  Nicholas 
Hotel,  and  I  pledge  you  my  word  I  did  not  know  my 
name.  The  man  asked  me  the  number  of  my  room,  and  I 
told  him,  "Hot  music  pn  the  half-shell  for  two !" 


PLAGIARISM 

BY   JOHN    B.    TABB 

If  Poe  from  Pike  The  Raven  stole, 

As  his  accusers  say. 
Then  to  embody  Adam's  soul, 

God  plagiarised  the  clay. 


316 


GO  LIGHTLY,  GAL 

(the  cake-walk) 

by  anne  virginia  culbertson 

Sweetes'  li'l  honey  in  all  dis  Ian', 
Come  erlong  yer  an'  gimme  yo'  han', 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 
Cawn  all  shucked  an'  de  barn  flo'  clear. 
Come  erlong,  come  erlong,  come  erlong,  my  dear, 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 

Fiddles  dey  callin'  us  high  an'  fine, 
"Time  fer  de  darnsin',  come  an'  jine," 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 
My  pooty  li'l  honey,  but  you  is  sweet ! 
An'  hit's  clap  yo'  ban's  an'  shake  yo'  feet, 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 

Hit's  cut  yo'  capers  all  down  de  line. 
Den  mek  yo'  manners  an'  tiptoe  fine. 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 
Oh,  hit's  whu'll  yo'  pardners  roun'  an'  roun', 
Twel  you  hyst  dey  feet  clean  off  de  groun', 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 

Oh,  hit's  tu'n  an'  twis'  all  roun'  de  flo', 
Fling  put  yo'  feet  behime,  befo'. 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 
Gre't  Lan'  o'  Goshen !  but  you  is  spry ! 
Kain't  none  er  de  urr  gals  spring  so  high, 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 
317 


GO   LIGHTLY,   GAL 

OH,  roll  yo'  eyes  an'  wag  yo'  hald 

An'  shake  yo'  bones  twel  you  nigh  most  dald. 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 
Doan'  talk  ter  me  'bout  gittin'  yo'  bref, 
Gwine  darnse  dis  out  ef  hit  cause  my  def ! 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 

Um-humph !  done  darnse  all  de  urr  folks  down ! 
Skip  erlong,  honey,  jes'  one  mo'  roun' ! 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 
Fiddles  done  played  twel  de  strings  all  break ! 
Come  erlong,  honey,  jes'  one  mo'  shake, 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 

Now  teck  my  arm  an'  perawd  all  roun', 

So  dey  see  whar  de  sho'-nuff  darnsers  foun', 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 
Den  gimme  yo'  han'  an'  we  quit  dish  yer, 
Come  erlong,  come  erlong,  come  erlong,  my  dear. 

Go  lightly,  gal,  go  lightly ! 


'318 


THE  GOLFER'S  RUBAIYAT* 

BY  H.   W.   BOYNTON 

Wake!  for  the  sun  has  driven  in  equal  flight 
The  stars  before  him  from  the  Tee  of  Night, 
And  holed  them  every  one  without  a  miss, 
Swinging  at  ease  his  gold-shod  Shaft  pf  Light. 

Now  the  fresh  Year,  reviving  old  Desires, 
The  thoughtful  Soul  to  Solitude  retires, 

Pores  on  this  Club  and  That  with  anxious  eye, 
And  dreams  of  Rounds  beyond  the  Rounds  of  Liars. 

Come,  choose  your  ball,  and  in  the  Fire  of  Spring 
Your  Red  Coat,  and  your  wooden  Putter  fling; 

The  Club  of  Time  has  but  a  little  while 
To  waggle,  and  the  Club  is  on  the  swing. 

Whether  at  Musselburgh  or  Shinnecock, 
In  motley  Hose  or  humbler  motley  Sock, 

The  Cup  of  Life  is  ebbing  Drop  by  Drop, 
Whether  the  Cup  be  filled  with  Scotch  or  Bock. 

A  Bag  of  Clubs,  a  Silver-Town  or  two, 

A  Flask  of  Scotch,  a  Pipe  of  Shag— and  Thou 

Beside  me  caddying  in  the  Wilderness — 
Ah,  Wilderness  were  Paradise  enow. 

They  say  the  Female  and  the  Duffer  strut 
On  sacred  Greens  where  Morris  used  to  put ; 

Himself  a  natural  Hazard  now,  alas ! 
That  nice  hand  quiet  now,  that  great  Eye  shut. 

*  By  permission  of  Fox,  Duffield  and  Company.    From  The  Golf- 
er's Rubaiyat.    Copyright,  1901,  by  Herbert  S.  Stone  and  Company. 


THE    GOLFER'S    RUBAIYAT 

I  sometimes  think  that  never  springs  so  green 
The  Turf  as  where  some  Good  Fellow  has  been, 

And  every  emerald  Stretch  the  Fair  Green  shows 
His  kindly  Tread  has  known,  his  sure  Play  seen. 

Myself  when  young  did  eagerly  frequent 
Jamie  and  His,  and  heard  great  argument 

Of  Grip  and  Stance  and  Swing;  but  everm.ore 
Found  at  the  Exit  but  a  Dollar  spent. 

With  them  the  seed  of  Wisdom  did  I  sow, 

And  with  mine  own  hand  sought  to  make  it  grow ; 

And  this  was  all  the  Harvest  that  I  reaped : 
'You  hold  it  This  Way,  and  you  swing  it  So." 

The  swinging  Brassie  strikes ;  and,  having  struck, 
Moves  on :  nor  all  your  Wit  or  future  Luck 
Shall  lure  it  back  to  cancel  half  a  Stroke, 
Nor  from  the  Card  a  single  Seven  pluck. 

And  that  inverted  Ball  they  call  the  High — 
By  which  the  Duffer  thinks  to  live  or  die, 
Lift  not  your  hands  to  It  for  help,  for  it 
As  impotently  froths  as  you  or  L 

Yon  rising  Moon  that  leads  us  Home  again. 
How  oft  hereafter  will  she  wax  and  wane; 

How  oft  hereafter  rising  wait  for  us 
At  this  same  Turning — and  for  One  in  vain. 

And  when,  like  her,  my  Golfer,  I  have  been 
And  am  no  more  above  the  pleasant  Green, 

And  you  in  your  mild  Journey  pass  the  Hole 
I  made  in  One — ah !  pay  my  Forfeit  then ! 


'220 


MR.  DOOLEY  ON  REFORM  CANDIDATES 

BY   FINLEY   PETER   DUNNE 

"That  frind  iv  ye'ers,  Dugan,  is  an  intilligent  man," 
said  Mr.  Dooley.  "All  he  needs  is  an  index  an'  a  few  il- 
lusthrations  to  make  him  a  bicyclopedja  iv  useless  in- 
formation." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  judiciously,  "he  ain't  no 
Soc-rates  an'  he  ain't  no  answers-to-questions  colum ;  but 
he's  a  good  man  that  goes  to  his  jooty,  an'  as  handy  with 
a  pick  as  some  people  are  with  a  cocktail  spoon.  What's 
he  been  doin'  again  ye  ?" 

"Nawthin',"  said  Mr.  Dooley,  "but  he  was  in  here 
Choosday.  'Did  ye  vote?'  says  I.  *I  did,'  says  he.  'Which 
wan  iv  th'  distinguished  bunko  steerers  got  ye'er  invalu'- 
ble  suffrage?'  says  I.  'I  didn't  have  none  with  me,'  says 
he,  'but  I  voted  f'r  Charter  Haitch,'  says  he.  T've  been 
with  him  in  six  ilictions,'  says  he,  'an'  he's  a  good  man,' 
he  says.  'D'ye  think  ye' re  votin'  f'r  th'  best?'  says  I. 
'Why,  man  alive,'  I  says,  'Charter  Haitch  was  assassi- 
nated three  years  ago,'  I  says.  'Was  he?'  says  Dugan. 
*Ah,  well,  he's  lived  that  down  be  this  time.  He  was  a 
good  man,'  he  says. 

"Ye  see,  that's  what  thim  rayform  lads  wint  up  again. 
If  I  liked  rayformers,  Hinnissy,  an'  wanted  f'r  to  see 
thim  win  out  wanst  in  their  lifetime,  I'd  buy  thim  each  a 
suit  Iv  chilled  steel,  ar-rm  thim  with  raypeatin'  rifles,  an' 
take  thim  east  iv  State  Sthreet  an'  south  iv  Jackson  Bully- 
vard.   At  prisint  th'  opinion  that  pre-vails  in  th'  ranks  iv 

321 


MR.  DOOLEY  ON  REFORM  CANDIDATES 

th'  gloryous  ar-rmy  Iv  ray- form  is  that  there  ain't  anny- 
thing  worth  seein'  in  this  lar-rge  an'  commodyous  desert 
but  th'  pest-house  an'  the  bridewell.  Me  frind  Willum  J. 
O'Brien  is  no  rayformer.  But  Willum  J.  undherstands 
that  there's  a  few  hundherds  iv  thousands  iv  people  livin' 
in  a  part  iv  th'  town  that  looks  like  nawthin'  but  smoke 
fr'm  th'  roof  iv  th'  Onion  League  Club  that  have  on'y 
two  pleasures  in  life,  tp  wur-ruk  an'  to  vote,  both  iv  which 
they  do  at  th'  uniform  rate  iv  wan  dollar  an'  a  half  a  day. 
That's  why  Willum  J.  O'Brien  is  now  a  sinitor  an'  will  be 
an  aldherman  afther  next  Thursdah,  an'  it's  why  other 
people  are  sinding  him  flowers. 

"This  is  th'  way  a  rayform  candydate  is  ilicted.  Th' 
boys  down  town  has  heerd  that  things  ain't  goin'  r-right 
somehow.  Franchises  is  bein'  handed  out  to  none  iv  thim ; 
an'  wanst  in  a  while  a  mimber  iv  th'  club,  comin'  home  a 
little  late  an'  thryin'  to  riconcile  a  pair  iv  r-round  feet 
with  an  embroidered  sidewalk,  meets  a  sthrong  ar-rm  boy 
that  pushes  in  his  face  an'  takes  away  all  his  marbles.  It 
begins  to  be  talked  that  th'  time  has  come  f'r  good  citizens 
f  r  to  brace  up  an'  do  somethin',  an'  they  agree  to  nomy- 
nate  a  candydate  f'r  aldherman.  'Who'll  we  put  up  ?'  says 
they.  'How's  Clarence  Doolittle?'  says  wan.  *He's  laid 
up  with  a  coupon  thumb,  an'  can't  r-run.'  'An'  how  about 
Arthur  Doheny?'  '1  swore  an  oath  whin  I  came  put  iv 
colledge  I'd  niver  vote  f'r  a  man  that  wore  a  made  tie.' 
'Well,  thin,  let's  thry  Willie  Boye.'  'Good,'  says  th' 
comity.  'He's  jus'  th'  man  f'r  our  money.'  An'  Willie 
Boye,  after  thinkin'  it  over,  goes  to  his  tailor  an'  or- 
dhers  three  dozen  pairs  iv  pants,  an'  decides  f'r  to  be 
th'  sthandard-bearer  iv  th'  people.  Musin'  over  his  fried 
eyesthers  an'  asparagus  an'  his  champagne,  he  bets  a  polo 
pony  again  a  box  of  golf-balls  he'll  be  ilicted  unanimous; 
an'  all  th'  good  citizens  make  a  vow  f'r  to  set  th'  alar-rm 

322 


FINLEY    PETER    DUNNE 

clock  f  r  half-past  three  on  th'  aftheriioon  iv  iliction  clay, 
so's  to  be  up  in  time  to  vote  fr  th'  riprisintltive  iv  pure 
gover'mint. 

"  'Tis  some  time  befure  they  comprehind  that  there 
ar-re  other  candydates  in  th'  field.  But  th'  other  candy- 
dates  know  it.  Th'  sthrongest  iv  thim — his  name  is  Flan- 
nigan,  an'  he's  a  re-tail  dealer  in  wines  an'  liquors,  an'  he 
lives  over  his  establishment.  Flannigan  was  nomynated 
enthusyastically  at  a  prim'ry  held  in  his  bar-rn;  an'  be- 
fure Willie  Boye  had  picked  out  pants  that  wud  match  th' 
color  iv  th'  Austhreelyan  ballot  this  here  Flannigan  had 
put  a  man  on  th'  day  watch,  tol'  him  to  speak  gently  to 
anny  raygistered  voter  that  wint  to  sleep  behind  th' 
sthove,  an'  was  out  that  night  visitin'  his  frinds.  Who 
was  it  judged  th'  cake  walk?  Flannigan.  Who  was  it 
carrid  th'  pall?  Flannigan.  Who  was  it  sthud  up  at  th' 
christening  ?  Flannigan.  Whose  ca-ards  did  th'  grievin' 
widow,  th'  blushin'  bridegroom,  or  th'  happy  father  find 
in  th'  hack?  Flannigan's.  Ye  bet  ye'er  life.  Ye  see  Flan- 
nigan wasn't  out  fr  th'  good  iv  th'  community.  Flanni- 
gan was  out  fr  Flannigan  an'  th'  stuff. 

"Well,  iliction  day  come  around;  an'  all  th'  imminent 
frinds  iv  good  gover'mint  had  special  wires  sthrung  into 
th'  club,  an'  waited  f  r  th'  returns.  Th'  first  precin't 
showed  28  votes  fr  Willie  Boye  to  14  f r  Flannigan. 
'That's  my  precin't,'  says  Willie.  *I  wondher  who  voted 
thim  fourteen?'  'Coachmen,'  says  Clarence  Doolittle. 
'There  are  thirty-five  precin'ts  in  this  ward,'  says  th' 
leader  iv  th'  rayform  ilimint.  'At  this  rate,  I'm  sure  iv 
440  meejority.  Gossoon,'  he  says,  'put  a  keg  iv  sherry 
wine  on  th'  ice,'  he  says.  'Well,'  he  says,  'at  last  th'  com- 
munity is  relieved  fr'm  misrule,'  he  says.  'To-morrah  I 
will  start  in  arrangin'  amindmints  to  th'  tariff  schedool 
an'  th'  ar-bitration  threety,'  he  says.  'We  must  be  up  an' 

323 


MR.  DOOLEY  ON  REFORM  CANDIDATES 

<3om'/  he  says.  'Hoi'  on  there,'  says  wan  iv  th'  comity. 
*There  must  be  some  mistake  in  this  fr'm  th'  sixth  pre- 
cin't,'  he  says.  'Where's  the  sixth  precin't?'  says  Clar- 
ence. 'Over  be  th'  dumps,'  says  Wilhe.  'I  told  me  fut- 
man  to  see  to  that.  He  lives  at  th'  cor-ner  iv  Desplaines 
an'  Bloo  Island  Av'noo  on  Goose's  Island,'  he  says. 
/What  does  it  show?'  Tlannigan,  three  hundherd  an' 
eighty-five;  Hansen,  forty-eight;  Schwartz,  twinty; 
O'Malley,  sivinteen;  Casey,  ten;  O'Day,  eight;  Larsen, 
five;  O'Rourke,  three;  Mulcahy,  two;  Schmitt,  two; 
Moloney,  two;  Riordon,  two;  O'^NIalley,  two;  Willie 
Boye,  wan.'  'Gintlemin,'  says  Willie  Boye,  arisin'  with  a 
stern  look  in  his  eyes,  *th'  rascal  has  bethrayed  me. 
Waither,  take  th'  sherry  wine  off  th'  ice.  They'se  no  hope 
f'r  sound  financial  legislation  this  year.  I'm  goin'  home.' 
"An',  as  he  goes  down  th'  sthreet,  he  hears  a  band  play 
an'  sees  a  procission  headed  be  a  calceem  light ;  an',  in  a 
carredge,  with  his  plug  hat  in  his  hand  an'  his  di'mond 
makin'  th'  calceem  look  like  a  piece  iv  punk  in  a  smoke- 
house, is  Flannigan,  payin'  his  first  visit  this  side  iv  th' 
thracks." 


324 


AN  EVENING  MUSICALS 

BY    MAY   ISABEL   FISK 

Scene — A  conventional,  but  rather  over-decorated, 
drawing-room.  Grand  piano  drawn  conspicuously  to 
center  of  floor.  Rozvs  of  camp-chairs.  It  is  ten  minutes 
before  the  hour  of  invitation.  The  Hostess,  a  large  wom- 
an, is  costumed  in  yellow  satin,  embroidered  in  spangles. 
Her  diamonds  are  many  and  of  large  size.  She  is  seated 
on  the  extreme  edge  of  a  chair,  struggling  with  a  pair  of 
very  long  gloves.  She  looks  Hurried  and  anxious.  Poor 
Relative,  invited  as  a  "great  treat,"  sits  opposite.  Her  ex- 
pression is  timid  and  apprehensive.  They  are  the  only 
occupants  of  the  room. 

Hostess — No  such  thing,  Maria.  You  look  all  right. 
Plain  black  is  always  very  genteel.  Nothing  I  like  so  well 
for  evening,  myself.  Just  keep  your  face  to  the  wall  as 
much  as  you  can,  and  the  worn  places  will  never  show. 
You  can  take  my  ecru  lace  scarf,  if  you  wish,  and  that  will 
cover  most  of  the  spots.  I  don't  mean  my  new  scarf — the 
one  I  got  two  years  ago.  It's  a  little  torn,  but  it  won't 
matter — for  you.  I  think  you  will  find  it  on  the  top  shelf 
of  the  store-room  closet  on  the  third  floor.  If  you  put  a 
chair  on  one  of  the  trunks,  you  can  easily  reach  it.  Just 
wait  a  minute,  till  I  get  these  gloves  on;  I  want  you  to 
button  them.  I  do  hope  I  haven't  forgotten  anything. 
Baron  von  Gosheimer  has  promised  to  come.  I  have  told 
everybody.  It  would  be  terrible  if  he  should  disappoint 
me. 

325 


AN   EVENING   MUSICALE 

Masculine  Voice  from  Above — Sarah,  where  the 
'devil  have  you  put  my  shirts?  Everything  is  upside  down 
in  my  room,  and  I  can't  find  them.  I  pulled  every  blessed 
thing  out  of  the  chijffonier  and  wardrobe,  and  they're  not 
there ! 

Hostess — Oh,  Henry !  You  must  hurry — I'm  going  to 
use  your  room  for  the  gentlemen's  dressing-room,  and  it's 
time  now  for  people  to  come.  You  must  hurry. 

Host  (from  above,  just  as  front  door  opens,  admitting 
Baron  von  Gosheimer  and  two  women  guests) — Where 
the  devil  are  my  shirts  ? 

Hostess  (unconscious  of  arrivals) — Under  the  bed  in 
my  room.  Hurry ! 

(Host,  in  bath  gown  and  slippers,  ^dashes  madly  into 
wife's  room,  and  dives  under  bed  as  women  guests  enter. 
Unable  to  escape,  he  crawls  farther  beneath  bed.  His 
feet  remain  visible.   Women  guests  discover  them.) 

Guests  (in  chorus) — Burglars !  burglars !  Help !  help ! 

(Baron  von  Gosheimer,  ascending  to  the  next  floor, 
hears  them  and  hastens  to  the  rescue.) 

Baron — Don't  be  alarmed,  ladies.  Has  either  of  you  a 
poker?  No?  That  is  to  be  deplored.  (Catches  Host  by 
heels  and  drags  him  out.  Tableau.) 

Hostess  (to  Poor  Relative,  giving  an  extra  tug  at  her 
gloves) — There,  it's  all  burst  out  on  the  side !  That  stupid 
saleslady  said  she  knew  they  would  be  too  small.  Oh, 
dear,  I'm  that  upset !  And  these  Louis  Quinze  slippers  are 
just  murdering  me.  I  wish  it  were  all  over. 

{Enter  Baron  von  Gosheimer  and  zvomen  guests.y 

Hostess — Dear  baron,  how  good  of  you!  I  was  just 
saying,  if  you  didn't  come  I  should  wish  my  musicale  in 
Jericho.  And,  now  that  you  are  here,  I  don't  care  if  any 
one  else  comes  or  not.  (To  women  guests.)  How  d'ye 
do?    I  must  apologize  for  Mr.  Smythe — he's  been  de- 

326 


MAY   ISABEL   FISK 

taineH  down-town.  He  just  telephoned  me.  He'll  be  in 
later.  Do  sit  down;  it's  just  as  cheap  as  standing,  I  al- 
ways say,  and  it  does  save  your  feet.  You  ladies  can  find 
seats  over  in  the  corner.  ( Detaining  Baron. )  Dear  baron 
—  (Enter  guests.) 

Guest — So  glad  you  have  a  clear  evening.  Now,  when 
we  gave  our  affair,  it  poured.  Of  course,  zue  had  a  crowd, 
just  the  same.  People  always  come  to  us,  whether  it  rains 
or  not.  (Takes  a  seat.  Guests  begin  to  arrive  in  num- 
bers. ) 

Hostess — So  sweet  of  you  to  come ! 

Guest — So  glad  you  have  a  pleasant  evening.  I  am 
sure  to  have  a  bad  night  whenever  I  entertain — 

Hostess — (to  another  guest) — So  delightful  of  you  to 
come! 

Guest — Such  a  perfect  evening!  I'm  so  glad.  I  said  as 
we  started  out,  "Now,  this  time,  Mrs.  Smythe  can't  help 
but  have  plenty  of  people.  Whenever  I  entertain,  it's  sure 
to — "   (More  guests.) 

(Telegram  arrives,  announcing  that  the  prima  donna 
has  a  sore  throat,  and  will  be  unable  to  come.  Time 
passes. ) 

Male  Guest  (to  another) — Well,  I  wish  to  heaven, 
something  would  be  doing  soon.  This  is  the  deadest  af- 
fair I  was  ever  up  against. 

Omnipresent  Joker  (greeting  acquaintance) — Hello, 
pld  man ! — going  to  sing  to-night  ? 

Acquaintance — Oh,  yes,  going  to  sing  a  solo. 

Joker — So  low  you  can't  hear  it?  Ha,  ha!  (Guests 
near  by  groan. ) 

Voice  (overheard) — Madame  Cully?  My  dear,  she  al- 
ways tells  you  that  you  haven't  half  enough  material,  and 
makes  you  get  yards  more.  Besides,  she  never  sends  your 
pieces  back,  though  I  have — 

327 


AN   EVENING   MUSICALE 

Fat  Old  Lady  {to  neighbor) — I  never  was  so  warm  in 
my  life!  I  can't  imagine  why  people  invite  you,  just  to 
make  you  uncomfortable.  Now,  when  I  entertain,  I  have 
the  windows  open  for  hours  before  any  one  comes. 

Joker  (aside) — ^That's  why  she  always  has  a  frost! 
Ha,  ha! 

(Host  enters,  showing  traces  of  hasty  toilette — face 
red,  and  a  razor-cut  on  chin.) 

Host  {rubbing  his  hands,  and  endeavoring  to  appear 
at  ease  and  facetious) — Well,  how  d'ye  do,  everybody! 
Sorry  to  be  late  on  such  an  auspicious — 

Joker  {interrupting) — Suspicious!  Ha,  ha! 

Host — occasion.  I  hope  you  are  all  enjoying  your- 
selves. 

Chorus  of  Guests — Yes,  indeed ! 

Hostess — 'Sh,  'sh,  'sh !  I  have  a  great  disappointment 
for  you  all.  Here  is  a  telegram  from  my  best  singer,  say- 
ing she  is  sick,  and  can't  come.  Now,  we  will  have  the 
pleasure  of  listening  to  Miss  Jackson.  Miss  Jackson  is  a 
pupil  of  Madame  Parcheesi,  of  Paris.  {Singer  whispers 
to  her.)   Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon!  It's  Madame  Marcheesi. 

Deaf  Old  Gentleman  {seated  by  piano,  talking  to 
pretty  girl) — I'd  rather  listen  to  you  than  hear  this  cater- 
wauling. (Old  Gentleman  is  dragged  into  corner  and 
silenced. ) 

Young  Woman  {singing) — "Why  do  I  sing?  I  know 
not,  I  know  not !  I  can  not  help  but  sing.  Oh,  why  do  I 
sing?" 

{Guests  moan  softly  and  demand  of  one  another,  Why 
does  she  sing?) 

Woman  Guest  {to  another) — Isn't  that  just  the  way? 
— their  relatives  are  always  dying,  and  it's  sure  to  be 
wash-day  or  just  when  you  expect  company  to  dinner,  and 
off  they  go  to  the  funeral — 

328 


MAY   ISABEL    FISK 

'(Butler  appears  zvith  trayful  of  punch-glasses.) 

Male  Guest  (to  another) — Thank  the  Lord!  here's 
relief  in  sight.   Let's  drown  our  troubles. 

The  Other — It's  evident  you  haven't  sampled  the 
Smythes'  punch  before.  I  tell  you  it's  a  crime  to  spoil  a 
thirst  with  this  stuff.  Well,  here's  how. 

Woman  Guest  (to  neighbor) — I  never  saw  Mrs.- 
Smythe  looking  quite  so  hideous  and  atrociously  vulgar 
before,  did  you  ? 

Neighbor — Never !   Why  did  we  come  ? 

Voice  (overheard) — The  one  in  the  white-lace  gown 
and  all  those  diamonds  ? 

Another  Voice — Yes.  Well,  you  know  it  was  com- 
mon talk  that  before  he  married  her — 

Hostess — 'Sh,  'sh,  'sh !  Signor  Padrella  has  offered  to 
play  some  of  his  own  compositions,  but  I  thought  you 
would  all  rather  hear  something  familiar  by  one  of  the 
real  composers — Rubens  or  Chopin — Chopinhauer,  I 
think— 

(Pianist  plunges  mildly  into  something.) 

Voice  (during  a  lull  in  the  music) — First,  you  brown 
an  onion  in  the  pan,  then  you  chop  the  cabbage — 

Guest  (in  the  dressing-room,  just  arriving,  to  an- 
other)— Yes,  we  are  awfully  late,  too,  but  I  always  say 
you  never  can  be  too  late  at  one  of  the  Smythes'  horrors. 

Thin  Young  Woman  (in  limp  pink  gown  and  string 
of  huge  pearls,  who  has  come  to  recite) — I'm  awfully 
nervous,  and  I  do  believe  I'm  getting  hoarse.  Mama,  you 
didn't  forget  the  lemon  juice  and  sugar?  (Drinks  from 
bottle.)  Now,  where  are  my  bronchial  troches?  Don't 
you  think  I  could  stand  just  a  little  more  rouge?  I  think 
it's  a  shame  I'm  not  going  to  have  footlights.  Remember, 
you  are  not  to  prompt  me,  unless  I  look  at  you.  You  will 
get  me  all  mixed  up,  if  you  do.    (They  descend.) 

329 


AN   EVENING   MUSICALE 

Hostess  (^o  elocutionist) — ^Why,  I  thought  you  were 
never  coming!  I  wanted  you  to  fill  in  while  people  were 
taking  their  seats.  The  guests  always  make  so  much 
noise,  and  the  singers  hate  it.  Now,  what  did  you  say  you 
would  require — an  egg-beater  and  a  turnip,  wasn't  it? 
Oh,  no !  That's  for  the  young  man  who  is  going  to  do  the 
tricks.  I  remember.  Are  you  all  ready  ? 

Elocutionist  (m  a  trembling  voice) — Ye-es. 

Hostess — 'Sh,  'sh,  'sh! 

Elocutionist — Aux  Italiens. 

"At  Paris  it  was,  at  the  opera  there. 
And  she  looked  like — " 

Guest  {to  another) — Thirty  cents,  old  chap!  I  tell 
you,  there's  nothing  will  knock  you  out  quicker  than — 

Hostess — 'Sh,  'sh,  'sh! 

{Young  woman  finishes,  and  retires  amidst  subdued 
applause.  Reappears  immediately  and  gives  "The  Ma- 
niac") 

Hostess — As  I  have  been  disappointed  in  my  best  tal- 
ent for  this  evening,  Mr.  Briggs  has  kindly  consented  to 
do  some  of  his  parlor-magic  tricks. 

(Mr.  Briggs  steps  forward,  a  large,  -florid  young  man, 
wearing  a  ''made"  dress-tie,  the  buckle  of  which  crawls 
up  the  back  of  his  collar.) 

Briggs — Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  shall  have  to 
ask  you  all  to  move  to  the  other  side  of  the  room.  ( This 
is  accomplished  with  muttered  uncomplimentary  remarks 
concerning  the  magician. ) 

Briggs  (to  Hostess) — I  must  have  the  piano  pushed  to 
the  further  end.  I  must  have  plenty  of  space.  (All  the 
men  guests  are  pressed  into  service,  and,  with  much  diifi- 
culty  the  piano  is  moved. ) 

Briggs — Now,  I  want  four  large  screens. 

Hostess  (faintly) — But  I  have  only  two! 

330 


MAY   ISABEL    FISK 

Briggs — Well,  then,  get  me  a  clothes-horse  and  a 
couple  of  sheets. 

Poor  Relative — You  know,  Sarah,  I  used  the  last  two 
when  I  made  up  my  bed  in  the  children's  nursery  yester- 
day.  I  can  easily  get — 

Hostess  (hastily) — No,  Maria,  don't  tT6\ibde.''.'\To 
guests) — Perhaps,  some  of  you  gentlemen  wouldn't  mind 
lending  us  your  overcoats  to  cover  the  clothes-horse  ? 

Chorus  (with  great  lack  of  enthusiasm) — Of  course Ij 
Delighted !    ( They  go  for  coats.) 

Hostess  (to  Poor  Relative) — Maria,  you  get  the 
clothes-horse.  I  think  it's  in  the  laundry,  or — Oh,  I  think 
it's  in  the  cellar.  Well,  you  look  till  you  find  it.  (To 
Briggs) — I  got  as  many  of  the  things  you  asked  for  as  I 
could  remember.  Will  you  read  the  list  over? 

Briggs — Turnip  and  egg-beater — 

Hostess — Yes. 

Briggs — Egg,  large  clock,  jar  of  gold-fish,  rabbit  and 
empty  barrel. 

Hostess — I  have  the  egg. 

Briggs  (much  annoyed) — I  particularly  wanted  the 
gold-fish,  the  clock  and  the  barrel. 

( Guests  grom  restless. ) 

Hostess — Couldn't  you  do  a  trick  while  we  are  wait- 
ing— one  with  the  egg-beater  and  turnip? 

Briggs — No ;  I  don't  know  one. 

Hostess — Couldn't  you  make  up  one? 

Briggs  (icily) — Certainly  not. 

(Gloom  descends  over  the  company,  until  the  Poor  Rel- 
ative arrives,  staggering  under  the  clothes-horse.) 

Chorus  of  Men  Guests — Let  me  help  you ! 

(Improvised  screen  is  finally  arranged.  Briggs  'per- 
forms "parlor  magic"  for  an  hour.  Guests,  fidget,  yawn 
and  commence  to  drop  away,  one  by  one.)] 

331 


AN   EVENING    MUSICALE 

Guest  (to  Hostess) — Really,  we  must  tear  ourselves 
away.  Such  a  delightful  evening! — not  a  dull  moment. 
And  your  punch — heavenly!  Do  ask  us  again.  Good 
night. 

Hostess — Thank  you  so  much!  So  good  of  you  to 
come. 

Another  Guest — Yes,  we  must  go.  I've  had  a  per- 
fectly dear  time. 

Hostess — So  sorry  you  must  go.  So  good  of  you  to 
come.   Good  night. 

IN   THE   dressing-room 

Chorus  of  Guests — Wasn't  it  awful  ? — Such  low  peo- 
ple!— Why  did  we  ever  come — Parvenue! 

Elocutionist — I  was  all  right,  wasn't  I,  mama  ?  You 
noticed  they  never  clapped  a  bit  until  I'd  walked  the  whole 
length  of  the  room  to  my  chair.  It  just  showed  how 
wrought  up  they  were.  You  nearly  mixed  me  up,  though, 
prompting  me  in  the  wrong  place ;  I — 

Hostess  (throzmig  herself  on  sofa  as  door  closes  on 
last  guest) — Well,  I'm  completely  done  up!  {To  Poor 
Relative) — Maria,  run  up  to  my  room,  and  get  my  red 
worsted  bed-slippers.  I  can't  stand  these  satin  tortures  a 
minute  longer.  Entertaining  is  an  awful  strain.  It's  so 
hard  trying  not  to  say  the  wrong  thing  at  the  right  place. 
But,  then,  it  certainly  went  off  beautifully.  I  could  tell 
every  one  had  such  a  good  time  I 


332 


COMIN'  THU 

BY   ANNE   VIRGINIA   CULBERTSON 

Yer's  a  sinner  comin'  thu, 
Crowd  roun',  bre'ren,  sisters,  too, 
Sing  wid  all  yo'  might  an'  main, 
He'p  de  sinner  out  er  pain, 
He's  comin',  comin'  thu. 

He  bin  "seekin'  "  dis  long  time, 
He'p  him  cas'  de  foe  behime. 
Clap  yo'  ban's  an'  sing  an'  shout, 
He'p  him  cas'  de  debil  out, 

Le's  wrassel  him  right  thu. 

Tu'rr  side  de  Gate  er  Sin, 
Year  him  kickin'  ter  git  in, 
Putt  up  prayers  wid  might  an'  main, 
Dat  he  doesn'  kick  in  vain, 
Y'all  kin  pray  him  thu. 

Heart  a-bus'in'  fer  de  right, 
Debil  hol'in'  to  him  tight, 
Year  him  swish  dat  forked  tail, 
See  de  sinner-man  turn  pale, 
Come  on  an'  he'p  him  thu. 

Sinner  hangin'  'bove  de  pit. 
By  a  hya'r  strotch  over  hit, 
Debil  hoi'  one  eend  an'  shake, 
Y'all  kin  see  de  sinner  quake, 

Quick,  he'p  dis  man  come  thu. 
333 


COMIN'   THU 

Seize  de  ropes,  now,  ev'y  man, 
He'p  de  gospel  ship  ter  Ian', 
One  long  pull  an'  one  gre't  shout, 
Hallelu !  We  got  him  out, 
De  sinner  done  come  thu  I 


334 


AUNT  DINAH'S  KITCHEN 

BY   HARRIET   BEECHER   STOWE 

Lilce  a  certain  class  of  modern  philosophers,  Dinah  per- 
fectly scorned  logic  and  reason  in  every  shape,  and  always 
took  refuge  in  intuitive  certainty ;  and  here  she  was  per- 
fectly impregnable.  No  possible  amount  of  talent,  or  au- 
thority, or  explanation  could  ever  make  her  believe  that 
any  other  way  was  better  than  her  own,  or  that  the  course 
she  had  pursued  in  the  smallest  matter  could  be  in  the 
least  modified.  This  had  been  a  conceded  point  with  her 
old  mistress,  Marie's  mother;  and  "Miss  Marie,"  as  Di- 
nah always  called  her  young  mistress,  even  after  her  mar- 
riage, found  it  easier  to  submit  than  contend;  and  so 
Dinah  had  ruled  supreme.  This  was  the  easier,  in  that 
she  was  perfect  mistress  of  that  diplomatic  art  which 
unites  the  utmost  subservience  of  manner  with  the  utmost 
inflexibility  as  to  measure. 

Dinah  was  the  mistress  of  the  whole  art  and  mystery 
of  excuse-making,  in  all  its  branches.  Indeed,  it  was  an 
axiom  with  her  that  the  cook  can  do  no  wrong,  and  a  cook 
in  a  Southern  kitchen  finds  abundance  of  heads  and  shoul- 
ders on  which  to  lay  off  every  sin  and  frailty,  so  as  to 
maintain  her  own  immaculateness  entire.  If  any  part  of 
the  dinner  was  a  failure,  there  were  fifty  indisputably 
good  reasons  for  it,  and  it  was  the  fault,  undeniably,  of 
fifty  other  people,  whom  Dinah  berated  with  unsparing 
zeal. 

But  it  was  very  seldom  that  there  was  any  failure  in 
Dinah's  last  results.    Though  her  mode  of  doing  every- 

335 


AUNT    DINAH'S    KITCHEN 

thing  was  peculiarly  meandering  and  circuitous,  and  with- 
out any  sort  of  calculation  as  to  time  and  place, — though 
her  kitchen  generally  looked  as  if  it  had  been  arranged  by 
a  hurricane  blowing  through  it,  and  she  had  about  as 
many  places  for  each  cooking  utensil  as  there  were  days 
in  the  year, — yet,  if  one  could  have  patience  to  wait  her 
own  good  time,  up  would  come  her  dinner  in  perfect  or- 
der, and  in  a  style  of  preparation  with  which  an  epicure 
could  find  no  fault. 

It  was  now  the  season  of  incipient  preparation  for  din- 
ner. Dinah,  who  required  large  intervals  of  reflection 
and  repose,  and  was  studious  of  ease  in  all  her  arrange- 
ments, was  seated  on  the  kitchen  floor,  smoking  a  short, 
stumpy  pipe,  to  which  she  was  much  addicted,  and  which 
she  always  kindled  up,  as  a  sort  of  censer,  whenever  she 
felt  the  need  of  an  inspiration  in  her  arrangements.  It 
was  Dinah's  mode  of  invoking  the  domestic  Muses. 

Seated  around  her  were  various  members  of  that  rising 
race  with  which  a  Southern  household  abounds,  engaged 
in  shelling  peas,  peeling  potatoes,  picking  pin-feathers  out 
of  fowls,  and  other  preparatory  arrangements,  Dinah 
every  once  in  a  while  interrupting  her  meditations  to  give 
a  poke,  or  a  rap  on  the  head,  to  some  of  the  young  opera- 
tors, with  the  pudding-stick  that  lay  by  her  side.  In  fact, 
Dinah  ruled  over  the  woolly  heads  of  the  younger  mem- 
bers with  a  rod  of  iron,  and  seemed  to  consider  them  born 
for  no  earthly  purpose  but  to  "save  her  steps,"  as  she 
phrased  it.  It  was  the  spirit  of  the  system  under  which 
she  had  grown  up,  and  she  carried  it  out  to  its  full  extent. 

Miss  Ophelia,  after  passing  on  her  reformatory  tour 
through  all  the  other  parts  of  the  establishment,  now  en- 
tered the  kitchen.  Dinah  had  heard,  from  various  sources, 
what  was  going  on,  and  resolved  to  stand  on  defensive 
and  conservative  ground, — mentally  determined  to  op- 

336 


HARRIET   BEECHER    STOWE 

pose  and  ignore  every  new  measure,  without  any  actual 
and  observable  contest. 

The  kitchen  was  a  large,  brick-floored  apartment,  with 
a  great  old-fashioned  fireplace  stretching  along  one  side 
of  it, — an  arrangement  which  St.  Clair  had  vainly  tried 
to  persuade  Dinah  to  exchange  for  the  convenience  of  a 
modern  cook-stove.  Not  she.  No  Pusseyite,  or  conserv- 
ative of  any  school,  was  ever  more  inflexibly  attached  to 
time-honored  inconveniences  than  Dinah. 

When  St.  Clair  had  first  returned  from  the  North,  im- 
pressed with  the  system  and  order  of  his  uncle's  kitchen 
arrangements,  he  had  largely  provided  his  own  with  an 
array  of  cupboards,  drawers,  and  various  apparatus,  to 
induce  systematic  regulation,  under  the  sanguine  illusion 
that  it  would  be  of  any  possible  assistance  to  Dinah  in  her 
arrangements.  He  might  as  well  have  provided  them  for 
a  squirrel  or  a  magpie.  The  more  drawers  and  closets 
there  were,  the  more  hiding-holes  could  Dinah  make  for 
the  accommodation  of  old  rags,  hair-combs,  old  shoes, 
ribbons,  cast-off  artificial  flowers,  and  other  articles  of 
vertu,  wherein  her  soul  delighted. 

When  Miss  Ophelia  entered  the  kitchen,  Dinah  did  not 
rise,  but  smoked  on  in  sublime  tranquillity,  regarding  her 
movements  obliquely  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  but  ap- 
parently intent  only  on  the  operations  around  her. 

Miss  Ophelia  commenced  opening  a  set  of  drawers. 

"What  is  this  drawer  for,  Dinah  ?"  she  said. 

"It's  handy  for  'most  anything,  missis,"  said  Dinah.  So 
it  appeared  to  be.  From  the  variety  it  contained  Miss 
Ophelia  pulled  out  first  a  fine  damask  table-cloth  stained 
with  blood,  having  evidently  been  used  to  envelop  some 
raw  meat. 

"What's  this,  Dinah  ?  You  don't  wrap  up  meat  in  your 
mistress's  best  table-cloth  ?" 

337 


AUNT.   DINAH'S   KITCHEN 

"Oh,  Lor*,  missis,  no ;  the  towels  was  all  a-missin',  so  I 
just  did  it.  I  laid  it  out  to  wash  that  ar ;  that's  why  I  put 
it  than" 

"Shir'less!"  said  Miss  Ophelia  to  herself,  proceeding  to 
tumble  over  the  drawer,  where  she  found  a  nutmeg-grater 
and  two  or  three  nutmegs,  a  Methodist  hymn-book,  a 
couple  of  soiled  Madras  handkerchiefs,  some  yarn  and 
knitting-work,  a  paper  of  tobacco  and  a  pipe,  a  few 
crackers,  one  or  two  gilded  china  saucers  with  some 
pomade  in  them,  one  or  two  thin  old  shoes,  a  piece  of 
flannel  carefully  pinned  up  enclosing  some  small  white 
onions,  several  damask  table-napkins,  some  coarse  crash 
towels,  some  twine  and  darning-needles,  and  several 
broken  papers,  from  which  sundry  sweet  herbs  were  sift- 
ing into  the  drawer, 

"Where  do  you  keep  your  nutmegs,  Dinah?"  said  Miss 
Ophelia,  with  the  air  of  one  who  "prayed  for  patience." 

"Most  anywhar,  missis;  there's  some  in  that  cracked 
tea-cup  up  there,  and  there's  some  over  in  that  ar  cup- 
board." 

"Here  are  some  in  the  grater,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  hold- 
ing them  up. 

"Laws,  yes;  I  put  'em  there  this  morning;  I  likes  to 
keep  my  things  handy,"  said  Dinah.  "You  Jake!  what 
are  you  stopping  for  ?  You'll  cotch  it !  Be  still,  thar !"  she 
added,  with  a  dive  of  her  stick  at  the  criminal. 

"What's  this?"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  holding  up  the 
saucer  of  pomade. 

"Laws,  it's  my  har-grease:  I  put  it  thar  to  have  it 
handy." 

"Do  you  use  your  mistress's  best  saucers  for  that?" 

"Law !  it  was  'cause  I  was  driv'  and  in  sich  a  hurry.  I 
was  gwine  to  change  it  this  very  day." 

"Here  are  two  damask  table-napkins.'* 

338 


HARRIET    BEECHER    STOWE 

"Them  table-napkins  I  put  thar  to  get  'em  washed  out 
some  day." 

"Don't  you  have  some  place  here  on  purpose  for  things 
to  be  washed?" 

"Well,  Mas'r  St.  Clair  got  dat  ar  chest,  he  said,  for 
dat ;  but  I  likes  to  mix  up  biscuit  and  hev  my  things  on  it 
some  days,  and  then  it  ain't  handy  a-liftin'  up  the  lid." 

"Why  don't  you  mix  your  biscuits  on  the  pastry-table, 
there?" 

"Law,  missis,  it  gets  sot  so  full  of  dishes,  and  one  thing 
and  another,  der  ain't  no  room,  noways." 

"But  you  should  wash  your  dishes,  and  clear  them 
away." 

"Wash  my  dishes !"  said  Dinah,  in  a  high  key,  as  her 
wrath  began  to  rise  over  her  habitual  respect  of  manner. 
"What  does  ladies  know  'bout  work,  I  want  to  know? 
When'd  mas'r  ever  get  his  dinner,  if  I  was  to  spend  all 
my  time  a-washin'  and  a-puttin'  up  dishes?  Miss  Marie 
never  telled  me  so,  nohow." 

"Well,  here  are  these  onions." 

"Laws,  yes !"  said  Dinah ;  "  that  is  whar  I  put  'em,  now. 
I  couldn't  'member.  Them's  particular  onions  I  was  a 
savin'  for  dis  yer  very  stew.  I'd  forgot  they  was  in  dat  ar 
old  flannel." 

Miss  Ophelia  lifted  out  the  sifting  papers  of  sweet 
herbs.  "I  wish  missis  wouldn't  touch  dem  ar.  I  likes  to 
keep  my  things  where  I  knows  whar  to  go  to  'em,"  said 
Dinah,  rather  decidedly. 

"But  you  don't  want  these  holes  in  the  papers." 

"Them's  handy  for  siftin'  on't  out,"  said  Dinah. 

"But  you  see  it  spills  all  over  the  drawer." 

"Laws,  yes!  if  missis  will  go  a-tumblin'  things  all  up 
so,  it  will.  Missis  has  spilt  lots  dat  ar  way,"  said  Dinah, 
coming  uneasily  to  the  drawers.    "If  missis  only  will  go 

339 


AUNT    DINAH'S    KITCHEN 

up-sta'rs  till  my  clarin'-up  time  comes,  I'll  have  every- 
thing right;  but  I  can't  do  nothin'  when  ladies  is  'round 
a-henderin'.  You  Sam,  don't  you  gib  de  baby  dat  ar 
sugar-bowl !  I'll  crack  ye  over,  if  ye  don't  mind !" 

"I'm  going  through  the  kitchen,  and  going  to  put  every- 
thing in  order,  once,  Dinah;  and  then  I'll  expect  you  to 
keep  it  so." 

"Lor',  now.  Miss  'Phelia,  dat  ar  ain't  no  way  for  ladies 
to  do.  I  never  did  see  ladies  doin'  no  sich ;  my  old  missis 
nor  Miss  Marie  never  did,  and  I  don't  see  no  kinder  need 
on't."  And  Dinah  stalked  indignantly  about,  while  Miss 
Ophelia  piled  and  sorted  dishes,  emptied  dozens  of  scat- 
tering bowls  of  sugar  into  one  receptacle,  sorted  napkins, 
table-cloths,  and  towels,  for  washing;  washing,  wiping 
and  arranging  with  her  own  hands,  and  with  a  speed  and 
alacrity  which  perfectly  amazed  Dinah. 

"Lor',  now !  if  dat  ar  de  way  dem  Northern  ladies  do, 
dey  ain't  ladies  nohow,"  she  said  to  some  of  her  satellites, 
when  at  a  safe  hearing-distance.  "I  has  things  as  straight 
as  anybody,  when  my  clarin'-up  times  comes ;  but  I  don't 
want  ladies  'round  a-henderin'  and  gettin'  my  things  all 
where  I  can't  find  'em." 

To  do  Dinah  justice,  she  had,  at  irregular  periods, 
paroxyms  of  reformation  and  arrangement,  which  she 
called  "clarin'-up  times,"  when  she  would  begin  with 
great  zeal  and  turn  every  drawer  and  closet  wrong  side 
outward  on  to  the  floor  or  tables,  and  make  the  ordinary 
confusion  sevenfold  more  confounded.  Then  she  would 
light  her  pipe  and  leisurely  go  over  her  arrangements, 
looking  things  over  and  discoursing  upon  them ;  making 
all  the  young  fry  scour  most  vigorously  on  the  tin  things, 
and  keeping  up  for  several  hours  a  most  energetic  state 
of  confusion,  which  she  would  explain  to  the  satisfaction 
of  all  inquirers  by  the  remark  that  she  was  a  "clarin'-up." 

340 


HARRIET    BEECHER    STOWE 

"She  couldn't  hev  things  a-gAvine  on  so  as  they  liad  been, 
and  she  was  gwine  to  make  these  yer  young  ones  keep 
better  order ;"  for  Dinah  herself,  somehow,  indulged  the 
illusion  that  she  herself  was  the  soul  of  order,  and  it  was 
only  the  young  tins,  and  the  everybody  else  in  the  house, 
that  were  the  cause  of  anything  that  fell  short  of  perfec- 
tion in  this  respect.  When  all  the  tins  were  scoured,  and 
the  tables  scrubbed  snowy  white,  and  everything  that 
could  offend  tucked  out  of  sight  in  holes  and  corners, 
Dinah  would  dress  herself  up  in  a  smart  dress,  clean 
apron,  and  high,  brilliant  Madras  turban,  and  tell  all 
marauding  "young  uns"  to  keep  out  of  the  kitchen,  for 
she  was  gwine  to  have  things  kept  nice.  Indeed,  these 
periodic  seasons  were  often  an  inconvenience  to  the  whole 
household,  for  Dinah  would  contract  such  an  immoderate 
attachment  to  her  scoured  tin  as  to  insist  upon  it  that  it 
shouldn't  be  used  again  for  any  possible  purpose, — at  least 
till  the  ardor  of  the  "clarin'-up"  period  abated. 


■341 


THE  STRIKE  AT  HINMAN'S 

BY   ROBERT   J.    BURDETTE 

Away  back  in  the  fifties,  "Hinman's"  was  not  only  the 
best  school  in  Peoria,  but  it  was  the  greatest  school  in  the 
world.  I  sincerely  thought  so  then,  and  as  I  was  a  very 
lively  part  of  it,  I  should  know.  Mr.  Hinman  was  the 
Faculty,  and  he  was  sufficiently  numerous  to  demonstrate 
cube  root  with  one  hand  and  maintain  discipline  with  the 
other.  Dear  old  man;  boys  and  girls  with  grandchil- 
dren love  him  to-day,  and  think  of  him  among  their 
blessings.  He  was  superintendent  of  public  instruction, 
board  of  education,  school  trustee,  county  superintend- 
ent, principal  of  the  high  school  and  janitor.  He  had  a 
pleasant  smile,  a  genius  for  mathematics,  and  a  West 
Point  idea  of  obedience  and  discipline.  He  carried  upon 
his  person  a  grip  that  would  make  the  imported  malady 
which  mocks  that  name  in  these  degenerate  days,  call 
itself  Slack,  in  very  terror  at  having  assumed  the  wrong 
title. 

We  used  to  have  "General  Exercises"  on  Friday  after- 
noon. The  most  exciting  feature  of  this  weekly  frivolity 
consisted  of  a  free-for-all  exercise  in  mental  arithmetic. 
Mr.  Hinman  gave  out  lists  of  numbers,  beginning  with 
easy  ones  and  speaking  slowly;  each  succeeding  list  he 
dictated  more  rapidly  and  with  ever-increasing  complica-, 
tions  of  addition,  subtraction,  multiplication  and  divi- 
sion, until  at  last  he  was  giving  them  out  faster  than  he 
could  talk.     One  by  one  the  pupils  dropped  out  of  the 

342 


ROBERT   J.    BURDETTE 

race  with  despairing  faces,   but  always  at  the  closing 
peremptory : 

"Answer?" 

At  least  a  dozen  hands  shot  into  the  air  and  as  many 
voices  shouted  the  correct  result.  We  didn't  have  many 
books,  and  the  curriculum  of  an  Illinois  school  in  those 
days  was  not  academic ;  but  two  things  the  children  could 
do,  they  could  spell  as  well  as  the  dictionary  and  they 
could  handle  figures.  Some  of  the  fellows  fairly  wal- 
lowed in  them.  I  didn't.  I  simply  drowned  in  the  shal- 
lowest pond  of  numbers  that  ever  spread  itself  on  the 
page.    As  even  unto  this  day  I  do  the  same. 

Well,  one  year  the  Teacher  introduced  an  innovation ; 
"compositions"  by  the  girls  and  "speakin'  pieces"  by  the 
boys.  It  was  easy  enough  for  the  girls,  who  had  only  to 
read  the  beautiful  thought  that  "spring  is  the  pleasant- 
est  season  of  the  year."  Now  and  then  a  new  girl,  from 
the  east,  awfully  precise,  would  begin  her  essay — "spring 
is  the  most  pleasant  season  of  the  year,"  and  her  would 
we  call  down  with  derisive  laughter,  whereat  she  walked 
to  her  seat,  very  stiffly,  with  a  proud  dry-eyed  look  in 
her  face,  only  to  lay  her  head  upon  her  desk  when  she 
reached  it,  and  weep  silently  until  school  closed.  But 
"speakin'  pieces"  did  not  meet  with  favor  from  the  boys, 
save  one  or  two  good  boys  who  were  in  training  by  their 
parents  for  congressmen  or  presidents. 

The  rest  of  us,  who  were  just  boys,  with  no  desire  ever 
to  be  anything  else,  endured  the  tyranny  of  compulsory 
oratory  about  a  month,  and  then  resolved  to  abolish  the 
whole  business  by  a  general  revolt.  Big  and  little,  we 
agreed  to  stand  by  each  other,  break  up  the  new  exercise, 
and  get  back  to  the  old  order  of  things — the  hurdle  races 
in  mental  arithmetic  and  the  geographical  chants  which 
we  could  run  and  intone  together. 

343 


THE    STRIKE   AT    HINMAN'S 

Was  I  a  mutineer?  Well,  say,  son,  your  Pa  was  a 
constituent  conspirator.  He  was  in  the  color  guard. 
You  see,  the  first  boy  called  on  for  a  declamation  was  to 
announce  the  strike,  and  as  my  name  stood  very  high — 
in  the  alphabetical  roll  of  pupils — I  had  an  excellent 
chance  of  leading  the  assaulting  column,  a  distinction  for 
which  I  was  not  at  all  ambitious,  being  a  stripling  of  ten- 
der years,  ruddy  countenance,  and  sensitive  feelings. 
However,  I  stiffened  the  sinews  of  my  soul,  girded  on 
my  armor  by  slipping  an  atlas  back  under  my  jacket  and 
was  ready  for  the  fray,  feeling  a  little  terrified  shiver  of 
delight  as  I  thought  that  the  first  lick  Mr.  Hinman  gave 
me  would  make  him  think  he  had  broken  my  back. 

The  hour  for  "speakin'  pieces,"  an  hour  big  with  fate, 
arrived  on  time.  A  boy  named  Aby  Abbott  was  called 
up  ahead  of  me,  but  he  happened  to  be  one  of  the  presi- 
dential aspirants  (he  was  mate  on  an  Illinois  river  steam- 
boat, stern-wheeler  at  that,  the  last  I  knew  of  him),  and 
of  course  he  flunked  and  "said"  his  piece — a  sadly  pro- 
phetic selection — "Mr.  President,  it  is  natural  for  man  to 
indulge  in  the  illusions  of  hope."  We  made  such  sug- 
gestive and  threatening  gestures  at  him,  however,  when 
Mr.  Hinman  wasn't  looking,  that  he  forgot  half 
his  "piece,"  broke  down  and  cried.  He  also  cried 
after  school,  a  little  more  bitterly,  and  with  far  better 
reason. 

Then,  after  an  awful  pause,  in  which  the  conspirators 
could  hear  the  beating  of  each  other's  hearts,  my  name 
was  called. 

I  sat  still  at  my  desk  and  said  : 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  speak  no  piece." 

Mr.  Hinman  looked  gently  surprised  and  asked : 

"Why  not,  Robert?" 

I  replied : 

344 


ROBERT  J.  BURDETTE 

"Because  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  any  more  speakin' 
pieces." 

The  teacher's  eyes  grew  round  and  big  as  he  inquired : 

"Who  says  there  will  not?" 

I  said,  in  slightly  firmer  tones,  as  I  realized  that  the 
moment  had  come  for  dragging  the  rest  of  the  rebels  into 
court : 

"All  of  us  boys!" 

But  Mr.  Hinman  smiled,  and  said  quietly  that  he 
guessed  there  would  be  "a  little  more  speaking  before 
the  close  of  the  session."  Then  laying  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder,  with  most  punctilious  but  chilling  courtesy,  he 
invited  me  to  the  rostrum.  The  "rostrum"  was  twenty- 
five  feet  distant,  but  I  arrived  there  on  schedule  time  and 
only  touched  my  feet  to  the  floor  twice  on  my  way. 

And  then  and  there,  under  Mr.  Hinman's  judicious 
coaching,  before  the  assembled  school,  with  feelings,  nay, 
emotions  which  I  now  shudder  to  recall,  I  did  my  first 
"song  and  dance."  Many  times  before  had  I  stepped  off 
a  solo-cachuca  to  the  staccato  pleasing  of  a  fragment  of 
slate  frame,  upon  which  my  tutor  was  a  gifted  per- 
former, but  never  until  that  day  did  I  accompany  myself 
with  words.  Boy  like,  I  had  chosen  for  my  "piece"  a 
poem  sweetly  expressive  of  those  peaceful  virtues  which 
I  most  heartily  despised.  So  that  my  performance,  at  the 
inauguration  of  the  strike,  as  Mr.  Hinman  conducted  the 
overture,  ran  something  like  this — 

"Oh,  not  for  me  (whack)  is  the  rolling  (whack)  drum, 

Or  the   (whack,  whack)   trumpet's  wild   (whack)   appeal!     (Boo- 
hoo!) 
Or    the    cry    (swish — whack)    of    (boo-hoo-hoo!)    war    when    the 
(whack)  foe  is  come  (ouch!) 
Or  the    (ow — wow!)    brightly    (whack)    flashing    (whack-whack) 
steel!  (wah-hoo,  wah-hoo!)" 

Words  and  symbols  can  not  convey  to  the  most  gifted 

345 


THE   STRIKE   AT    HINMAN'S 

imagination  the  gestures  with  which  I  illustrated  the 
seven  stanzas  of  this  beautiful  poem.  I  had  really  selected 
it  to  please  my  mother,  whom  I  had  invited  to  be  present, 
when  I  supposed  I  would  deliver  it.  But  the  fact  that 
she  attended  a  missionary  meeting  in  the  Baptist  church 
that  afternoon  made  me  a  friend  of  missions  forever. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  then,  that  my  pantomime  kept  pace  and 
time  with  Mr.  Hinman's  system  of  punctuation  until  the 
last  line  was  sobbed  and  whacked  out.  I  groped  my  be- 
wildered way  to  my  seat  through  a  mist  of  tears  and  sat 
down  gingerly  and  sideways,  inly  wondering  why  an 
inscrutable  providence  had  given  to  the  rugged  rhinoc- 
eros the  hide  which  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  had 
plainly  prepared  for  the  school-boy. 

But  I  quickly  forgot  my  own  sorrow  and  dried  my 
tears  with  laughter  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  subsequent 
acts  of  the  opera,  as  tlie  chorus  developed  the  plot  and 
action.  Mr.  Hinman,  who  had  been  somewhat  gentle 
with  me,  dealt  firmly  with  the  larger  boy  who  followed, 
and  there  was  a  scene  of  revelry  for  the  next  twenty  min- 
utes. The  old  man  shook  Bill  Morrison  until  his  teeth 
rattled  so  you  couldn't  hear  him  cry.  He  hit  Mickey 
McCann,  the  tough  boy  from  the  Lower  Prairie,  and 
Mickey  ran  out  and  lay  down  in  the  snow  to  cool  off. 
He  hit  Jake  Bailey  across  the  legs  with  a  slate  frame,  and 
it  hurt  so  that  Jake  couldn't  howl — he  just  opened  his 
mouth  wide,  held  up  his  hands,  gasped,  and  forgot  his 
own  name.  He  pushed  Bill  Haskell  into  a  seat  and  the 
bench  broke. 

He  ran  across  the  room  and  reached  out  for  Lem 
Harkins,  and  Lem  had  a  fit  before  the  old  man  touched 
him.  He  shook  Dan  Stevenson  for  two  minutes,  and 
when  he  let  him  go,  Dan  walked  around  his  own  desk 
five  times  before  he  could  find  it,  and  then  he  couldn't  sit 

346 


ROBERT   J.    BURDETTE 

down  without  holding  on.  He  whipped  the  two  Knowl- 
tons  with  a  skate-strap  in  each  hand  at  the  same  time; 
the  Greenwood  family,  five  boys  and  a  big  girl,  he 
whipped  all  at  once  with  a  girl's  skipping  rope,  and  they 
raised  such  a  united  wail  that  the  clock  stopped. 

He  took  a  twist  in  Bill  Rodecker's  front  hair,  and  Bill 
slept  with  his  eyes  open  for  a  week.  He  kept  the  atmos- 
phere of  that  school-room  full  of  dust,  and  splinters,  and 
lint,  weeping,  wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth,  until  he 
reached  the  end  of  the  alphabet  and  all  hearts  ached  and 
wearied  of  the  inhuman  strife  and  wicked  contention. 
Then  he  stood  up  before  us,  a  sickening  tangle  of  slate 
frame,  strap,  ebony  ferule  and  skipping  rope,  a  smile  on 
his  kind  old  face,  and  asked,  in  clear,  triumphant  tones: 

"WHO  says  there  isn't  going  to  be  any  more  speaking 
pieces?" 

And  every  last  boy  in  that  school  sprang  to  his  feet; 
standing  there  as  one  human  being  with  one  great  mouth, 
we  shrieked  in  concerted  anguish : 

"NOBODY  DON'T!" 

And  your  Pa,  my  son,  who  led  that  strike,  has  been 
"speakin'  pieces"  ever  since. 


347 


A  NAUTICAU  BALLAD 

BY   CHARLES   E.    CARRYL 

A  capital  ship  for  an  ocean  trip 

Was  the  "Walloping  Window-blind"; 
No  gale  that  blew  dismayed  her  crew 

Or  troubled  the  captain's  mind. 
The  man  at  the  wheel  was  taught  to  feel 

Contempt  for  the  wildest  blow, 
And  it  pften  appeared,  when  the  weather  had 
cleared. 

That  he'd  been  in  his  bunk  below. 

'The  boatswain's  mate  was  very  sedate. 

Yet  fond  of  amusement,  too; 
And  he  played   hop-scotch   with  the  starboard 
watch. 

While  the  captain  tickled  the  crew. 
And  the  gunner  we  had  was  apparently  mad, 

For  he  sat  on  the  after  rail, 
And  fired  salutes  with  the  captain's  boots, 

In  the  teeth  of  the  booming  gale. 

'The  captain  sat  in  a  commodore's  hat 

And  dined  in  a  royal  way 
On  toasted  pigs  and  pickles  and  figs 

And  gummery  bread  each  day. 
But  the  cook  was  Dutch  and  behaved  as  such ; 

For  the  diet  he  gave  the  crew 
Was  a  number  of  tons  of  hot-cross  buns 

Prepared  with  sugar  and  glue. 
348 


CHARLES   E.    CARRYL 

"All  nautical  pride  we  laid  aside, 

And  we  cast  the  vessel  ashore 
On  the  Gulliby  Isles,  where  the  Poohpooh  smiles, 

And  the  Rumbletumbunders  roar. 
And  we  sat  on  the  edge  o£  a  sandy  ledge 

And  shot  at  the  whistling  bee ; 
And  the  cinnamon-bats  wore  water-proof  hats 

As  they  danced  in  the  sounding  sea. 

"On  rubgub  bark,  from  dawn  to  dark, 
We  fed,  till  we  all  had  grown 
Uncommonly  shrunk, — when  a  Chinese  junk 

Came  by  from  the  torriby  zone. 
She  was  stubby  and  square,  but  we  didn't  much 
care. 
And  we  cheerily  put  to  sea ; 
And  we  left  the  crew  of  the  junk  to  chew 
The  bark  of  the  rubgub  tree." 


349 


NATURAL  PERVERSITIES 

BY  JAMES   WHITCOMB   RILEY 

I  am  not  prone  to  moralize 

In  scientific  doubt 
On  certain  facts  that  Nature  tries 

To  puzzle  us  about, — 
For  I  am  no  philosopher 

Of  wise  elucidation, 
But  speak  of  things  as  they  occur, 

From  simple  observation. 

I  notice  little  things — to  wit : — 

I  never  missed  a  train 
Because  I  didn't  run  for  it ; 

I  never  knew  it  rain 
That  my  umbrella  wasn't  lent, — 

Or,  when  in  my  possession, 
The  sun  but  wore,  to  all  intent, 

A  jocular  expression. 

I  never  knew  a  creditor 

To  dun  me  for  a  debt 
But  I  was  "cramped"  or  "busted" ;  or 

I  never  knew  one  yet, 
When  I  had  plenty  in  my  purse, 

To  make  the  least  invasion, — 
As  I,  accordingly  perverse. 

Have  courted  no  occasion. 

350 


JAMES   WHITCOMB    RILEY 

Nor  do  I  claim  to  comprehend 

What  Nature  has  in  view 
In  giving  us  the  very  friend 

To  trust  we  oughtn't  to. — 
But  so  it  is :  The  trusty  gun 

Disastrously  exploded 
Is  always  sure  to  be  the  one 

We  didn't  think  was  loaded. 

Our  moaning  is  another's  mirth, — 

And  what  is  worse  by  half, 
We  say  the  funniest  thing  on  earth 

And  never  raise  a  laugh : 
Mid  friends  that  love  us  overwell, 

And  sparkling  jests  and  liquor, 
Our  hearts  somehow  are  liable 

To  melt  in  tears  the  quicker. 

We  reach  the  wrong  when  most  we  seek 

The  right ;  in  like  effect, 
We  stay  the  strong  and  not  the  weak — 

Do  most  when  we  neglect. — 
Neglected  genius — truth  be  said — 

As  wild  and  quick  as  tinder. 
The  more  you  seek  to  help  ahead 

The  more  you  seem  to  hinder. 

I've  known  the  least  the  greatest,  too — 

And,  on  the  selfsame  plan. 
The  biggest  fool  I  ever  knew 

Was  quite  a  little  man : 
We  find  we  .ought,  and  then  we  won't — 

We  prove  a  thing,  then  doubt  it, — 
Know  everything  but  when  we  don't 

Know  anything  about  it. 
351 


BUDD  WILKINS  AT  THE  SHOW 

BY   S.    E.    KISER 

Since  I've  got  used  to  city  ways  and  don't  scare  at  the 
cars. 

It  makes  me  smile  to  set  and  think  of  years  ago. — My 
stars ! 

How  green  I  was,  and  how  green  all  them  country  peo- 
ple be — 

Sometimes  it  seems  almost  as  if  this  hardly  could  be  me. 

Well,  I  was  goin'  to  tell  you  'bout  Budd  Wilkins:    I 

declare 
He  was  the  durndest,  greenest  chap  that  ever  breathed 

the  air — 
The  biggest  town  on  earth,  he  thought,  was  our  old  county 

seat, 
With  its  one  two-story  brick  hotel  and  dusty  bizness  street. 

We'd  fairs  in  fall  and  now  and  then  a  dance  or  huskin' 

bee. 
Which  was  the  most  excitin'  things  Budd  Wilkins  ever 

see. 
Until,  one  winter,   Skigginsville  was  all  turned  upside 

down 
By  a  troupe  of  real  play  actors  a-comin'  into  town. 

The  court-house  it  was  turned  into  a  theater,  that  night. 
And  I  don't  s'pose  I'll  live  to  see  another  sich  a  sight : 
I  guess  that  every  person  who  was  able  fer  to  go 
Jest  natchelly  cut  loose  fer  oncet,  and  went  to  see  the 
show. 

352 


S.    E.    KISER 

Me  and  Budd  we  stood  around  there  all  day  in  the  snow, 
But  gosh !  it  paid  us,  fer  we  got  seats  right  in  the  second 

row! 
Well,  the  brass  band  played  a  tune  er  two,  and  then  the 

play  begun, 
And  'twa'n't  long  'fore  the  villain  had  the  hero  on  the  run. 

Say,  talk  about  your  purty  girls  with  sweet,  confidin' 

ways — 
I  never  see  the  equal  yit,  in  all  o'  my  born  days, 
Of  that  there  brave  young  heroine,  so  clingin'  and  so 

mild. 
And  jest  as  innocent  as  if  she'd  been  a  little  child. 

I  most  forgot  to  say  that  Budd  stood  six  feet  in  his  socks, 
As  brave  as  any  lion,  too,  and  stronger  than  an  ox ! 
But  there  never  was  a  man,  I'll  bet,  that  had  a  softer 

heart. 
And  he  was  always  sure  to  take  the  weaker  person's  part. 

Budd,  he  fell  dead  in  love  right  off  with  that  there  purty 

girl, 
And  I  suppose  the  feller's  brain  was  in  a  fearful  whirl, 
Fer  there  he  set  and  gazed  at  her,  and  when  she  sighed 

he  sighed. 
And  when  she  hid  her  face  and  sobbed,  he  actually  cried. 

He  clinched  his  fists  and  ground  his  teeth  when  the  villain 

laid  his  plot 
And  said  out  loud  he'd  like  to  kill  the  rogue  right  on  the 

spot. 
And  when  the  hero  helped  the  girl,  Budd  up  and  yelled 

"Hooray!" 
He'd  clean  fergot  the  whole  blame  thing  was  nothing  but 

a  play. 

353 


BUDD    WILKINS    AT    THE    SHOW 

At  last  the  villain  trapped  the  girl,  that  sweet  confidin* 

child, 
And  when  she  cried  for  help,  why  I'll  admit  that  I  was 

riled ; 
The  hero  couldn't  do  a  thing,  but  roll  and  writhe  around 
And  tug  and  groan  because  they'd  got  the  poor  chap 

gagged  and  bound. 

The  maiden  cried :  "Unhand  me  now,  or,  weak  girl  that 

I  am—" 
And  then  Budd  Wilkins  he  jumped  up  and  give  his  hat  a 

slam, 
And,  quicker'n  I  can  tell  it  he  was  up  there  raisin'  Ned, 
A-rescuin'  the  maiden  and  a-punchin'  the  rogue's  head. 

I  can't,  somehow,  perticklerize  concernin'  that  there  row : 
The  whole  thing  seems  a  sort  of  blur  as  I  recall  it  now — 
But  I  can  still  remember  that  there  was  a  fearful  thud. 
With  the  air  chock  full  of  arms  and  legs  and  the  villain 
under  Budd. 

I  never  see  a  chap  so  bruised  and  battered  up  before 

As  that  there  villain  was  when  he  was  picked  up  from 

the  floor ! — 
The  show  ?  Oh,  it  was  busted,  and  they  put  poor  Budd  in 

jail, 
And  kept  him  there  all  night,  because  I  couldn't  go  his 

bail. 

Next  mornin'  what  d'  you  think  we  heard  ?  Most  s'prised 

in  all  my  life! 
That  sweet,  confidin'  maiden  was  the  cruel  villain's  wife ! 
Budd  wilted  when  he  heard  it,  and  he  groaned,  and  then, 

says  he : 
*'Well,  I'll  be  dummed!    Bill,  that's  the  last  play  actin' 

show  fer  me !" 

354 


BALLAD 

BY   CHARLES   GODFREY   LELAND 

Der  noble  Ritter  Hugo 

Von  Schwillensaufenstein, 
Rode  out  mit  shpeer  and  helmet, 

Und  he  coom  to  de  panks  of  de  Rhine. 

Und  oop  dere  rose  a  meer  maid, 

Vot  hadn't  got  nodings  on, 
Und  she  say,  "Oh,  Ritter  Hugo, 

Vhere  you  goes  mit  yourself  alone?" 

And  he  says,  "I  rides  in  de  creenwood 

Mit  helmet  und  mit  shpeer. 
Till  I  cooms  into  em  Gasthaus, 

Und  dere  I  trinks  some  beer." 

Und  den  outshpoke  de  maiden 
Vot  hadn't  got  nodings  on : 
"I  tont  dink  mooch  of  beoplesh 
Dat  goes  mit  demselfs  alone; 

"You'd  petter  coom  down  in  de  wasser, 
Vere  deres  heaps  of  dings  to  see, 
Und  hafe  a  shplendid  tinner 
Und  drafel  along  mit  me. 

"Dere  you  sees  de  fisch  a  schwimmin, 
Und  you  catches  dem  efery  one  :"— 
So  sang  dis  wasser  maiden 
Vot  hadn't  got  nodings  on. 
355 


BALLAD 

"Dere  ish  drunks  all  full  mit  money 
In  ships  dat  vent  down  of  old ; 
Und  you  helpsh  yourself,  by  dunder! 
To  shimmerin  crowns  of  gold. 

"Shoost  look  at  dese  shpoons  und  vatches ! 
Shoost  see  dese  diamant  rings ! 
Coom  down  und  full  your  bockets, 
Und  I'll  giss  you  like  avery  dings. 

"Vot  you  vantsh  mit  your  schnapps  und  lager? 
Coom  down  into  der  Rhine ! 
Der  ish  pottles  der  Kaiser  Charlemagne 
Vonce  filled  mit  gold-red  wine !" 

Dat  fetched  him — he  shtood  all  shpell  pound ; 

She  pooled  his  coat-tails  down, 
She  drawed  him  oonder  der  wasser, 

De  maidens  mit  nodings  on. 


356 


THE  HOOSIER  AND  THE  SALT  PILE 

BY  DANFORTH    MARBLE 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Dan,  as  he  knocked  the  ashes  from 
his  regaha,  as  he  sat  in  a  small  crowd  over  a  glass  of 
sherry,  at  Florence's,  New  York,  one  evening, — "I'm 
sorry  that  the  stages  are  disappearing  so  rapidly.  I  never 
enjoyed  traveling  so  well  as  in  the  slow  coaches.  I've 
made  a  good  many  passages  over  the  Alleghanies,  and 
across  Ohio,  from  Cleveland  to  Columbus  and  Cincinnati, 
all  over  the  South,  down  East,  and  up  North,  in  stages, 
and  I  generally  had  a  good  time. 

"When  I  passed  over  from  Cleveland  to  Cincinnati,  the 
last  time,  in  a  stage,  I  met  a  queer  crowd.  Such  a  corps, 
such  a  time,  you  never  did  see.  I  never  was  better  amused 
in  my  life.  We  had  a  good  team, — spanking  horses,  fine 
coaches,  and  one  of  them  drivers  you  read  of.  Well,  there 
was  nine  'insiders,'  and  I  don't  believe  there  ever  was  a 
stage  full  of  Christians  ever  started  before,  so  chuck  full 
of  music. 

"There  was  a  beautiful  young  lady  going  to  one  of  the 
Cincinnati  academies;  next  to  her  sat  a  Jew  peddler, — 
Cowes  and  a  market ;  wedging  him  was  a  dandy  black-leg, 
with  jewelry  and  chains  around  about  his  breast  and  neck 
enough  to  hang  him.  There  was  myself,  and  an  old  gen- 
tleman with  large  spectacles,  gold-headed  cane,  and  a 
jolly,  soldering-iron-looking  nose;  by  him  was  a  circus- 
rider,  whose  breath  was  enough  to  breed  yaller  fever  and 
could  be  felt  just  as  easy  as  cotton  velvet!   A  cross  old 

357 


THE    HOOSIER    AND   THE    SALT    PILE 

woman  came  next,  whose  look  would  have  given  any  rea- 
sonable man  the  double-breasted  blues  before  breakfast; 
alongside  of  her  was  a  rale  backwoods  preacher,  with  the 
biggest  and  ugliest  mouth  ever  got  up  since  the  flood.  He 
was  flanked  by  the  low  comedian  of  the  party,  an 
Indiana  Hoosier,  'gAvine  down  to  Orleans  to  get  an 
army  contrac'  to  supply  the  forces,  then  in  Mexico,  with 
beef. 

"We  rolled  along  for  some  time.  Nobody  seemed  in- 
clined to  'open.'  The  old  aunty  sat  bolt  upright,  looking 
crab-apples  and  persimmons  at  the  hoosier  and  the 
preacher ;  the  young  lady  dropped  the  green  curtain  of  her 
bonnet  over  her  pretty  face,  and  leaned  back  in  her  seat 
to  nod  and  dream  over  japonicas  and  jumbles,  pantalets 
and  poetry;  the  old  gentleman,  proprietor  of  the  Bar- 
dolph  nose,  looked  out  at  the  corduroy  and  swashes;  the 
gambler  fell  off  into  a  doze,  and  the  circus  convoy  fol- 
lowed suit,  leaving  the  preacher  and  me  vis-a-vis  and  say- 
ing nothing  to  nobody.  'Indiany,'  he  stuck  his  mug  out  of 
the  window  and  criticized  the  cattle  we  now  and  then 
passed.  I  was  wishing  somebody  would  give  the  conver- 
sation a  start,  when  Tndiany'  made  a  break. 

"  'This  ain't  no  great  stock  country,'  says  he  to  the  old 
gentleman  with  the  cane. 

"  'No,  sir,'  says  the  old  gentleman.  'There's  very  little 
grazing  here,  and  the  range  is  pretty  much  wore  out.' 

"Then  there  was  nothing  said  again  for  some  time. 
Bimeby  the  hoosier  opened  ag'in : 

"  'It's  the  d dest  place  for  'simmon-trees  and  tur- 
key-buzzards I  ever  did  see !' 

"The  old  gentleman  with  the  cane  didn't  say  nothing, 
and  the  preacher  gave  a  long  groan.  The  young  lady 
smiled  through  her  veil,  and  the  old  lady  snapped  her  eyes 
and  looked  sideways  at  the  speaker. 

358 


DANFORTH    MARBLE 

"  'Don't  make  much  beef  here,  I  reckon,'  says  the 
hoosier. 

"  'No,'  says  the  gentleman. 

"  'Well,  I  don't  see  how  in  h — 11  they  all  manage  to  get 
along  in  a  country  whar  thar  ain't  no  ranges  and  they 
don't  make  no  beef.  A  man  ain't  considered  worth  a  cuss 
in  Indiany  what  hasn't  got  his  brand  on  a  hundred  head.' 

"  'Yours  is  a  great  beef  country,  I  believe,'  says  the  old 
gentleman. 

"  'Well,  sir,  it  ain't  anything  else.  A  man  that's  got 
sense  enuff  to  foller  his  own  cow-bell  with  us  ain't  in  no 
danger  of  starvin'.  I'm  gwine  down  to  Orleans  to  see  if 
I  can't  git  a  contract  out  of  Uncle  Sam  to  feed  the  boys 
what's  been  lickin'  them  infernal  Mexicans  so  bad.  I 
s'pose  you've  seed  them  cussed  lies  what's  been  in  the  pa- 
pers about  the  Indiany  boys  at  Bony  Visty.' 

"  'I've  read  some  accounts  of  the  battle,'  says  the  old 
gentleman,  'that  didn't  give  a  very  flattering  account  of 
the  conduct  of  some  of  our  troops.' 

"With  that,  the  Indiany  man  went  into  a  full  explana- 
tion of  the  affair,  and,  gettin'  warmed  up  as  he  went 
along,  begun  to  cuss  and  swear  like  he'd  been  through  a' 
dozen  campaigns  himself.  The  old  preacher  listened  to 
him  with  evident  signs  of  displeasure,  twistin'  and  groan- 
in'  till  he  couldn't  stand  it  no  longer. 

"  'My  friend,'  says  he,  'you  must  excuse  me,  but  your 
conversation  would  be  a  great  deal  more  interesting  to  me 
— and  I'm  sure  would  please  the  company  much  better — 
if  you  wouldn't  swear  so  terribly.  It's  very  wrong  to 
swear,  and  I  hope  you'll  have  respect  for  our  feelin's,  if 
you  hain't  no  respect  for  your  Maker.' 

"If  the  hoosier  had  been  struck  with  thunder  and  light- 
nln',  he  couldn't  have  been  more  completely  tuck  aback. 
He  shut  his  mouth  right  in  the  middle  of  what  he  was 

359 


THE   HOOSIER   AND   THE   SALT   PILE 

sayin*,  and  looked  at  the  preacher,  while  his  face  got  as 
red  as  fire. 

"  'Swearin','  says  the  old  preacher,  'is  a  terrible  bad 
practice,  and  there  ain't  no  use  in  it,  nohow.  The  Bible 
says,  Swear  not  at  all,  and  I  s'pose  you  know  the  com- 
mandments about  swearin'  ?' 

"The  old  lady  sort  of  brightened  up, — the  preacher  was 
her  'duck  of  a  man' ;  the  old  fellow  with  the  nose  and  cane 
let  off  a  few  'umph,  ah !  umphs' ;  but  'Indiany'  kept  shady ; 
he  appeared  to  be  cowed  down. 

"  T  know,'  says  the  preacher,  'that  a  great  many  people 
swear  without  thinkin',  and  some  people  don't  b'lieve  the 
Bible.' 

"And  then  he  went  on  to  preach  a  regular  sermon  ag'in 
swearing,  and  to  quote  Scripture  like  he  had  the  whole 
Bible  by  heart.  In  the  course  of  his  argument  he  undertook 
to  prove  the  Scriptures  to  be  true,  and  told  us  all  about  the 
miracles  and  prophecies  and  their  fulfilment.  The  old 
gentleman  with  the  cane  took  a  part  in  the  conversation, 
and  the  hoosier  listened,  without  ever  opening  his  head. 

"  'I've  just  heard  of  a  gentleman,'  says  the  preacher, 
'that's  been  to  the  Holy  Land  and  went  over  the  Bible 
country.  It's  astonishin'  to  hear  what  wonderful  things 
he  has  seen.  He  was  at  Sodom  and  Gomorrow,  and  seen 
the  place  whar  Lot's  wife  fell.' 

"  'Ah !'  says  the  old  gentleman  with  the  cane. 

"  'Yes,'  says  the  preacher ;  'he  went  to  the  very  spot ; 
and,  what's  the  remarkablest  thing  of  all,  he  seen  the  pil- 
lar of  salt  what  she  was  turned  into.' 

"  'Is  it  possible !'  says  the  old  gentleman. 

"  'Yes,  sir ;  he  seen  the  salt,  standin'  thar  to  this  day.* 

"  'What !'  says  the  hoosier,  'real  genewine,  good  salt  ?' 

"  *Yes,  sir,  a  pillar  of  salt,  jest  as  it  was  when  that 
wicked  woman  was  punished  for  her  disobedience.' 

360 


DANFORTH    MARBLE 

"All  but  the  gambler,  who  was  snoozing  in  the  corner 
p£  the  coach,  looked  at  the  preacher, — the  hoosier  with  an 
expression  of  countenance  that  plainly  told  us  that  his 
mind  was  powerfully  convicted  of  an  important  fact. 

**  'Right  out  in  the  open  air?'  he  asked. 

"  *Yes,  standin'  right  in  the  open  field,  whar  she  fell.' 

"  'Well,  sir,'  says  'Indiany,'  'all  I've  got  to  say  is,  if 
she'd  dropped  in  our  parts,  the  cattle  would  have  licked 
her  up  afore  sundown !' 

"The  preacher  raised  both  his  hands  at  such  an  irrever- 
ent remark,  and  the  old  gentleman  laughed  himself  into  a 
fit  of  asthmatics,  what  he  didn't  get  over  till  we  came  to 
the  next  change  of  horses.  The  hoosier  had  played  the 
mischief  with  the  gravity  of  the  whole  party;  even  the 
old  maid  had  to  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  face,  and  the 
young  lady's  eyes  were  filled  with  tears  for  half  an  hour 
afterward.  The  old  preacher  hadn't  another  word  to  say 
on  the  subject ;  but  whenever  we  came  to  any  place,  or  met 
anybody  on  the  road,  the  circus-man  nursed  the  thing 
along  by  asking  what  was  the  price  of  salt." 


361 


A  RIVAL  ENTERTAINMENT. 

BY   KATE   FIELD 

I  once  heard  a  bright  child  declare  that  if  circuses  were 
prohibited  in  heaven,  she  did  not  wish  to  go  there.  She 
had  been  baptized,  was  under  Christian  influences,  and, 
previous  to  this  heterodoxy,  had  never  given  her  good 
parents  a  moment's  anxiety.  Her  naive  utterance  touched 
a  responsive  chord  within  my  own  breast,  for  well  did  I 
remember  how  gloriously  the  circus  shone  by  the  light  of 
other  days ;  how  the  ring-master,  in  a  wrinkled  dress-coat, 
seemed  the  most  enviable  of  mortals,  being  on  speaking 
terms  with  all  the  celestial  creatures  who  jumped  over 
flags  and  through  balloons ;  how  the  clown  was  the  dear- 
est, funniest  of  men;  how  the  young  athletes  in  tights 
and  spangles  were  my  beau-ideals  of  masculinity;  and 
how  La  Belle  Rose,  with  one  foot  upon  her  native  heath, 
otherwise  a  well-padded  saddle,  and  the  other  pointed  in 
the  direction  of  the  sweet  little  cherubs  that  sat  up  aloft, 
was  the  most  fascinating  of  her  sex.  I  am  persuaded  that 
circuses  fill  an  aching  void  in  the  universe.  What  chil- 
dren did  before  their  invention  I  shudder  to  think,  for 
circuses  are  to  childhood  what  butter  is  to  bread;  and 
what  the  world  did  before  the  birth  of  Bamum  is  an  al- 
almost  equally  frightful  problem.  Some  are  born  to 
shows,  others  attain  shows,  and  yet  again  others  have 
shows  thrust  upon  them.  Barnum  is  a  born  showman.  If 
ever  a  man  fulfills  his  destiny,  it  is  the  discoverer  of  Tom 
Thumb.   With  the  majority  of  men  and  women  life  is  a 

362 


KATE    FIELD 

failure.  Not  until  one  leg  dangles  in  the  grave  is  their 
raison  d'etre  disclosed.  The  round  people  always  find 
themselves  sticking  in  the  square  holes,  and  vice  versa; 
but  with  Barnum  we  need  not  deplore  a  vie  manquee.  We 
can  smile  at  his  reverses,  for  even  the  phoenix  has  cause  to 
blush  in  his  presence.  Though  pursued  by  tongues  of  fire, 
Barnum  remains  invincible  when  iron,  stone,  and  mortar 
crumble  around  him;  and  while  yet  the  smoke  is  telling 
volumes  of  destruction,  the  cheery  voice  of  the  showman 
exclaims,  "Here  you  are,  gentlemen;  admission  fifty 
cents,  children  half  price." 

Apropos  of  Barnum,  once  in  my  life  I  gave  myself  up 
to  unmitigated  joy.  Weary  of  lecturing,  singing  the 
song  "I  would  I  were  a  boy  again,"  I  went  to  see  the 
elephant.  To  speak  truly,  I  saw  not  one  elephant,  but  half 
a  dozen.  I  had  a  feast  of  roaring  and  a  flow  of  circus.  In 
fact  I  indulged  in  the  wildest  dissipation.  I  visited  Bar- 
num's  circus  and  sucked  peppermint  candy  in  a  way  most 
childlike  and  bland.  The  reason  seems  obscure,  but  cir- 
cuses and  peppermint  candy  are  as  inseparable  as  peanuts 
and  the  Bowery.  Appreciating  this  solemn  fact,  Barnum 
provides  bigger  sticks  adorned  with  bigger  red  stripes 
than  ever  Romans  sucked  in  the  palmy  days  of  the  Col- 
iseum. In  the  dim  distance  I  mistook  them  for  barbers' 
poles,  but  upon  direct  application  I  recognized  them  for 
my  long  lost  own. 

However,  let  me,  like  the  Germans,  begin  with  the  cre- 
ation. "Here,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  is  for  sale  Mr.  Bar- 
num's  Autobiography,  full  of  interest  and  anecdote,  one 
of  the  most  charming  productions  ever  issued  from  the 
press,  900  pages,  thirty-two  full-page  engravings,  reduced 
from  $3.50  to  $1.50.  Every  purchaser  enters  free." 

How  ordinary  mortals  can  resist  buying  Barnum's 
Autobiography  for  one  dollar — such  a  bargain  as  never 

363 


A    RIVAL    ENTERTAINMENT 

was — is  incomprehensible.  I  believe  they  can  not.  I  be- 
lieve they  do  their  duty  like  men.  As  one  man  I  resisted, 
because  I  belong  to  the  press,  and  therefore  am  not  mor- 
tal. Who  ever  heard  of  a  journalist  getting  a  bargain? 
With  Spartan  firmness  I  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  per- 
suasive music  of  the  propagandist,  and  entered  where 
hope  is  all  before.  I  was  not  staggered  by  a  welcome  from 
all  the  Presidents  of  the  United  States,  Fitz-Greene  Hal- 
leck.  General  Hooker,  and  Gratz  Brown.  These  person- 
ages are  rather  woodeny  and  red  about  the  face,  as  though 
flushed  with  victories  of  the  platform  or  the  table,  but  I 
recognize  their  fitness  in  a  menagerie.  What  athlete  has 
turned  more  somersaults  than  some  of  these  represent- 
ative men  ?  What  lion  has  roared  more  gently  than  a  few 
of  these  sucking  doves?  Barnum's  tact  in  appropriately 
grouping  curiosities,  living  and  dead,  is  too  well  known 
to  require  comment.  Passing  what  Sam  Weller  would 
call  "a  reg'lar  knock-down  of  intellect,"  I  took  my  seat 
high  in  the  air  amid  a  dense  throng  of  my  fellow-crea- 
tures, and  realized  how  many  people  it  takes  to  make  up 
the  world.  What  did  I  see  ?  I  saw  double.  I  beheld  not 
one  ring  but  two,  in  each  of  which  the  uncommon  variety 
of  man  was  disporting  in  an  entertaining  manner.  I  felt 
for  these  uncommon  men.  Think  what  immortal  hates 
must  arise  from  these  dual  performances !  We  all  like  to 
receive  the  reward  of  merit,  but  when  two  performances 
are  going  on  simultaneously,  how  are  the  artists  to  know 
for  whom  it  is  intended?  Applause  is  the  sweet  compen- 
sation for  which  all  strive  privately  or  publicly,  and  to 
be  cheated  out  of  it,  or  left  in  doubt  as  to  its  destination, 
is  a  refined  form  of  the  Inquisition.  Fancy  the  sensations 
of  the  man  balancing  plates  on  the  little  end  of  nothing, 
— a  feat  to  which  he  has  consecrated  his  life, — at  thought 
of  his  neighbor's  performance  of  impossible  feats  in  the 

'364 


KATE    FIELD 

air!  It  would  be  more  than  human  in  both  not  to  wish 
the  other  in  Jericho,  or  in  some  equally  remote  quarter 
of  the  globe.  I  sympathized  with  them.  I  became  be- 
wildered in  my  endeavors  to  keep  one  eye  on  each.  If 
human  beings  were  constructed  on  the  same  principles  as 
Janus,  and  had  two  faces,  a  fore-and-aft  circus  would  be 
convenient;  but  as  nowadays  double-faced  people  only 
wear  two  eyes  in  their  heads,  the  Barnumian  conception 
muddles  the  intellect.  I  pray  you,  great  and  glorious 
showman,  take  pity  on  your  artists  and  your  audiences. 
Don't  drive  the  former  mad  and  the  latter  distracted. 
Remember  that  insanity  is  on  the  increase,  and  that  ac- 
commodations in  asylums  are  limited.  Take  warning  be- 
fore you  undermine  the  reason  of  an  entire  continent. 
Beware!  Beware! 

I  hear  much  and  see  more  of  the  physical  weakness  of 
woman.  Michelet  tells  the  sentimental  world  that  woman 
is  an  exquisite  invalid,  with  a  perennial  headache  and 
nerves  perpetually  on  the  rack.  It  is  a  mistake.  When  I 
gaze  upon  German  and  French  peasant-women,  I  ask 
Michelet  which  is  right,  he  or  Nature?  And  since  my 
introduction  to  Barnum's  female  gymnast, — a  good-look- 
ing, well-formed  mother  of  a  family,  who  walks  about 
unflinchingly  with  men  and  boys  on  her  shoulders,  and 
carries  a  300-pound  gun  as  easily  as  the  ordinary  woman 
carries  a  clothes-basket, — I  have  been  persuaded  that 
"the  coming  woman,"  like  Brother  Jonathan,  will  "lick 
all  creation."  In  that  good  time,  woman  will  have  her 
rights  because  she  will  have  her  muscle.  Then,  if  there 
are  murders  and  playful  beatings  between  husbands  and 
wives,  the  wives  will  enjoy  all  the  glory  of  crime.  What 
an  outlook !  And  what  a  sublime  consolation  to  the  pres- 
ent enfeebled  race  of  wives  that  are  having  their  throats 
cut  and  their  eyes  carved  out  merely  because  their  biceps 

365 


A   RIVAL   ENTERTAINMENT 

have  not  gone  Into  training!  Barnum's  female  gymnast 
is  an  example  to  her  sex.  What  woman  has  done  woman 
may  do  again.  Mothers,  train  up  your  daughters  in  the 
way  they  should  fight,  and  when  they  are  married  they 
will  not  depart  this  life.  God  is  on  the  side  of  the  stoutest 
muscle  as  well  as  of  the  heaviest  battalions.  It  is  per- 
fectly useless  to  talk  about  the  equality  of  the  sexes  as 
long  as  a  man  can  strangle  his  own  mother-in-law. 

I  was  exceedingly  thrilled  by  the  appearance  of  the  two 
young  gentlemen  from  the  Cannibal  Islands,  who  are 
beautifully  embossed  in  green  and  red,  and  compassion- 
ated them  for  the  sacrifices  they  make  In  putting  on  blan- 
kets and  civilization.  Is  It  right  to  deprive  them  of  their 
daily  bread, — I  mean  their  daily  baby  ?  Think  what  self- 
restraint  they  must  exercise  while  gazing  upon  the  tooth- 
some infants  that  congregate  at  the  circus!  That  they 
do  gaze  and  smack  their  overhanging  lips  I  knov/,  be- 
cause, after  going  through  their  cannibalistic  dance,  they 
sat  behind  me  and  howled  in  a  subdued  manner.  The 
North  American  Indian  who  occupied  an  adjoining  seat, 
favored  me  with  a  translation  of  their  charming  conver- 
sation, by  which  I  learned  many  important  facts  concern- 
ing man  as  an  article  of  diet.  It  appears  that  babies,  after 
all,  do  not  make  the  daintiest  morsels.  Tender  they  are, 
of  course,  but,  being  immature,  they  have  not  the  rich 
flavor  of  a  youthful  adult.  This  seems  reasonable.  Veal 
is  tender,  but  can  It  be  favorably  compared  with  beef? 
The  cases  are  parallel.  The  embossed  young  men  con- 
sider babies  excellent  for  entrees,  but  for  roasts  there  Is 
nothing  like  plump  maidens  in  their  teens.  Men  of  twenty 
are  not  bad  eating.  When  older,  they  are  Invariably 
boiled.  Commenting  upon  the  audience,  the  critics  did 
not  consider  It  appetizing ;  and,  strange  as  it  may  appear, 
I  felt  somewhat  hurt  by  the  remark,  for  who  Is  not  vain 

366 


KATE    FIELD 

enough  to  wish  to  look  good  enough  to  eat?  Fancy  being 
shipwrecked  off  the  Fiji  Islands,  and  discarded  by  canni- 
bals as  a  tough  subject,  while  your  companions  are  liter- 
ally killed  with  attention!  Can  you  not  imagine,  that, 
under  such  circumstances,  a  peculiar  jealousy  of  the  su- 
perior tenderness  of  your  friends  would  be  a  thorn  in  the 
flesh,  rendering  existence  a  temporary  burden?  If  we 
lived  among  people  who  adored  squinting,  should  we  not 
all  take  to  it,  and  cherish  it  as  the  apple  of  our  eye?  And 
if  we  fell  among  anthropophagi,  would  not  our  love  of 
approbation  make  us  long  to  be  as  succulent  as  young 
pigs?  What  glory  to  escape  from  the  jaws  of  death,  if 
the  jaws  repudiate  us?  So  long  as  memory  holds  a  seat 
in  this  distracted  brain,  I  shall  entertain  unpleasant  feel- 
ings toward  the  embossed  young  gentlemen  who  did  not 
sigh  to  fasten  their  affections — otherwise  their  teeth — on 
me.  It  was  worse  than  a  crime :  it  was  bad  taste. 

Roaming  among  the  wild  animals,  I  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  cassowary,  in  which  I  have  been  deeply  inter- 
ested since  childhood's  sunny  hours,  for  then  't  was  oft 
I  sang  a  touching  hymn  running  thus  : 

"If  I  were  a  cassowary 

Far  away  in  Timbuctoo, 
I  should  eat  a  missionary, 
Hat,  and  boots,  and  hymn-book  too." 

From  that  hour  the  cassowary  occupied  a  large  niche 
in  my  heart.  The  desire  to  gaze  upon  a  bird  capable  of 
digesting  food  to  which  even  the  ostrich  never  aspired, 
pursued  me  by  day  and  tinctured  my  dreams  by  night. 
"What  you  seek  for  all  your  life  you  will  come  upon  sud- 
denly when  the  whole  family  is  at  dinner,"  says  Thoreau. 
I  met  the  cassowary  at  dinner.  He  was  dining  alone,  hav- 
ing left  his  family  in  Africa,  and  I  must  say  that  I  never 
met  with  a  greater  disappointment.   Were  it  not  for  the 

367 


A   RIVAL   ENTERTAINMENT 

touching  intimation  of  the  hymn,  I  should  believe  it  im- 
possible for  him  to  eat  a  missionary.  A  quieter,  more  ami- 
able bird  never  stood  on  two  legs.  A  polite  attendant 
stirred  him  up  for  me,  yet  his  temper  and  his  feathers 
remained  unruffled.  Perhaps  if  our  geographical  position 
had  changed  to  Timbuctoo,  and  I  had  been  a  missionary 
with  hymn-book  in  hand,  the  cassowary  might  have  real- 
ized my  expectations.  As  it  was,  one  more  illusion  van- 
ished. 

In  order  to  regain  my  spirits,  I  shook  hands  with  the 
handsome  giant  in  brass  buttons ;  and  speaking  of  giants 
leads  me  to  the  subject  of  all  lusus  naturco,  particularly 
the  Circassian  young  lady,  the  dwarf,  the  living  skeleton, 
the  Albinos,  and  What-is-it.  I  have  dropped  more  than 
one  tear  at  the  fate  of  these  unfortunate  beings;  for  what 
is  more  horribly  solitary  than  to  live  in  a  strange  crowd, 

with 

"No  one  to  love, 
None  to  caress?" 

NoaH  was  human.  When  he  retired  to  the  ark,  he  se- 
lected two  of  a  kind  from  all  the  animal  kingdom  for  the 
sake  of  sociability  as  well  as  for  more  practical  purposes. 
Showmen  should  be  equally  considerate.  To  think  of 
those  Albino  sisters  with  never  an  Albino  beau,  of  the 
Circassian  beauty  with  never  a  Circassian  sweetheart,  of 
the  living  skeleton  with  never  another  skeleton  in  his 
closet  (how  he  can  look  so  good-natured  would  be  most 
mysterious,  were  not  his  digestion  pronounced  perfect), 
to  think  of  the  wretched  What-is-it  with  never  a  Mrs. 
What-is-it,  produces  unspeakable  anguish.  May  they 
meet  their  affinities  in  another  and  a  more  sympathetic 
world,  where  monstrosities  are  impossible  for  the  reason 
that  we  leave  our  bones  on  earth.  Since  gazing  at  the 
What-is-it,  I  have  become  a  convert  to  Darwin.  It  is  too 

368 


KATE    FIELD 

true.  Our  ancestors  stood  on  their  hind  legs,  and  the  less 
we  talk  about  pedigree  the  better.  The  noble  democrat 
in  search  of  a  coat-of-arms  and  a  grandfather  should  visit 
a  grand  moral  circus.  Let  us  assume  a  virtue,  though  we 
have  it  not ;  let  our  pride  ape  humility. 

Were  I  asked  which  I  thought  the  greater  necessity  of 
civilization,  lectures  or  circuses,  I  should  lay  my  right 
hand  upon  my  left  heart,  and  exclaim,  "Circuses !" 


369 


YAWCOB  STRAUSS 

BY   CHARLES   FOLLEN    ADAMS 

I  haf  von  funny  leedle  poy, 

Vot  gomes  schust  to  mine  knee ; 

Der  queerest  schap,  der  Greatest  rogue, 
As  efer  you  dit  see. 

He  runs,  und  schumps,  und  schmashes  dings 

In  all  barts  off  der  house : 
But  vot  off  dot  ?  he  vas  mine  son, 

Mine  leedle  Yawcob  Strauss. 

He  gets  der  measles  und  der  mumbs, 

Und  eferyding  dot's  oudt ; 
He  sbills  mine  glass  off  lager  bier. 

Foots  schnuff  indo  mine  kraut. 

He  fills  mine  pipe  mit  Limburg  cheese, — 

Dot  vas  der  roughest  chouse : 
I'd  dake  dot  vrom  no  oder  poy 

But  leedle  Yawcob  Strauss. 

He  dakes  der  milk-ban  for  a  dhrum, 

Und  cuts  mine  cane  in  dwo. 
To  make  der  schticks  to  beat  it  mit, — 

Mine  cracious,  dot  vas  drue ! 

I  dinks  mine  had  vas  schplit  abart, 

He  kicks  oup  sooch  a  touse : 
But  nefer  mind ;  der  poys  vas  few 

Like  dot  young  Yawcob  Strauss. 

370 


CHARLES    FOLLEN    ADAMS 

He  asks  me  questions  sooch  as  'dese : 
Who  baints  mine  nose  so  red  ? 

Who  vas  it  cuts  dot  schmoodth  blace  oudt 
Vrom  der  hair  ubon  mine  hed  ? 

Und  vhere  der  plaze  goes  vrom  der  lamp 

Vene'er  der  ghm  I  douse. 
How  gan  I  all  dose  dings  eggsblain 

To  dot  schmall  Yawcob  Strauss  ? 

I  somedimes  dink  I  schall  go  vild 

Mit  sooch  a  grazy  poy, 
Und  vish  vonce  more  I  gould  haf  rest, 

Und  beaceful  dimes  enshoy ; 

But  ven  he  vas  ashleep  in  ped, 

So  guiet  as  a  mouse, 
I  prays  der  Lord,  "Dake  anyding. 

But  leaf  dot  Yawcob  Strauss." 


371 


SEFFY  AND  SALLY 

BY  JOHN  LUTHER  LONG 

The  place  was  the  porch  of  the  store,  the  time  was 
about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  a  summer  day,  the 
people  were  the  amiable  loafers — and  Old  Baumgartner. 
The  person  he  was  discoursing  about  was  his  son  Sepheni- 
jah.  I  am  not  sure  that  the  name  was  not  the  ripe  fruit 
of  his  father's  fancy — with,  perhaps,  the  Scriptural  sug- 
gestion which  is  likely  to  be  present  in  the  affairs  of  a 
Pennsylvania-German — whether  a  communicant  or  not — 
even  if  he  live  in  Maryland. 

"Yas — always  last;  expecial  at  funerals  and  weddings. 
Except  his  own — he's  sure  to  be  on  time  at  his  own  fu- 
neral. Right  out  in  front!  Hah?  But  sometimes  he 
misses  his  wedding.  Why,  I  knowed  a  feller — yous  all 
knowed  him,  begoshens! — that  didn't  git  there  tell  an- 
other feller'd  married  her — 'bout  more'n  a  year  afterward. 
Wasn't  it  more'n  a  year,  boys?  Yas — Bill  Eisenkrout. 
Or,  now,  was  it  his  brother — Baltzer  Iron-Cabbage? 
Seems  to  me  now  like  it  was  Baltz.  Somesing  wiss  a  B 
at  the  front  end,  anyhow." 

Henry  Wasserman  diffidently  intimated  that  there  was 
a  curious  but  satisfactory  element  of  safety  in  being  last 
— a  "fastnacht"  in  their  language,  in  fact.  Those  in 
front  were  the  ones  usually  hurt  in  railroad  accidents, 
Alexander  Althoff  remembered. 

"Safe?"  cried  the  speaker.  "Of  course!  But  for  why 
— say,  for  why?"  Old  Baumgartner  challenged  defiantly. 

^7^ 


JOHN   LUTHER   LONG 

No  one  answered  and  he  let  several  Impressive  minutes 
intervene. 

"You  don't  know !  Hang-  you,  none  of  yous  knows ! 
Well — because  he  ain't  there  when  anysing  occurs — al- 
ways a  little  late !" 

They  agreed  with  him  by  a  series  of  sage  nods. 

"But,  fellers,  the  worst  is  about  courting.  It's  no  way 
to  be  always  late.  Everybody  else  gits  there  first,  and  it's 
nossing  for  the  fastnacht  but  weeping  and  wailing  and 
gnashing  of  the  teeth.  And  mebby  the  other  feller  gits 
considerable  happiness — and  a  good  farm." 

There  was  complaint  in  the  old  man's  voice,  and  they 
knew  that  he  meant  his  own  son  Seffy.  To  add  to  their 
embarrassment,  this  same  son  was  now  appearing  over 
the  Lustich  Hill — an  opportune  moment  for  a  pleasing 
digression.  For  you  must  be  told  early  concerning  Old 
Baumgartner's  longing  for  certain  lands,  tenements  and 
hereditaments — using  his  own  phrase — which  were  not 
his  own,  but  which  adjoined  his.  It  had. passed  into  a 
proverb  of  the  vicinage;  indeed,  though  the  property  in 
question  belonged  to  one  Sarah  Pressel,  it  was  known 
colloquially  as  "Baumgartner's  Yearn." 

And  the  reason  of  it  was  this :  Between  his  own  farm 
and  the  public  road  (and  the  railroad  station  when  it 
came)  lay  the  fairest  meadow-land  farmer's  eye  had 
ever  rested  upon.  (I  am  speaking  again  for  the  father 
of  Seffy  and  with  his  hyperbole.)  Save  in  one  particu- 
lar, it  was  like  an  enemy's  beautiful  territory  lying  be- 
tween one's  less  beautiful  own  and  the  open  sea — keep- 
ing one  a  poor  inlander  who  is  mad  for  the  seas — whose 
crops  must  either  pass  across  the  land  of  his  adversary 
and  pay  tithes  to  him,  or  go  by  long  distances  around 
him  at  the  cost  of  greater  tithes  to  the  soulless  owners  of 
the  turnpikes — who  aggravatingly  fix  a  gate  each  way 

373 


SEFFY  AND    SALLY 

to  make  their  tithes  more  sure.  So,  I  say,  it  was  like  Slav- 
ing the  territory  of  his  enemy  lying  between  him  and  the 
deep  water — save,  as  I  have  also  said,  in  one  particular, 
to  wit :  that  the  owner — the  Sarah  Pressel  I  have  men- 
tioned— was  not  Old  Baumgartner's  enemy. 

In  fact,  they  were  tremendous  friends.  And  it  was  by 
this  friendship — and  one  other  thing  which  I  mean  to 
mention  later — that  Old  Baumgartner  hoped,  before  he 
died,  to  attain  the  wish  of  his  life,  and  see,  not  only  the 
Elysian  pasture-field,  but  the  whole  of  the  adjoining 
farm,  with  the  line  fences  down,  a  part  of  his.  The  other 
thing  I  promised  to  mention  as  an  aid  to  this  ambition — 
was  Seffy.  And,  since  the  said  Sarah  was  of  nearly  the 
same  age  as  Seffy,  perhaps  I  need  not  explain  further, 
except  to  say  that  the  only  obstruction  the  old  man  could 
see  now  to  acquiring  the  title  by  marriage  was — Seffy 
himself.  He  was,  and  always  had  been,  afraid  of  girls — 
especially  such  aggressive,  flirtatious,  pretty  and  tem- 
pestuous girls  as  this  Sarah. 

These  things,  however,  were  hereditary  with  the  girl. 
It  was  historical,  in  fact,  that,  during  the  life  of  Sarah's 
good-looking  father,  so  importunate  had  been  Old  Baum- 
gartner for  the  purchase  of  at  least  the  meadow — he 
could  not  have  ventured  more  at  that  time — and  so 
obstinate  had  been  the  father  of  the  present  owner — (he 
had  red  hair  precisely  as  his  daughter  had) — that  they 
had  come  to  blows  about  it,  to  the  discomfiture  of  Old 
Baumgartner;  and,  afterward,  they  did  not  speak.  Yet, 
when  the  loafers  at  the  store  laughed,  Baumgartner  swore 
that  he  would,  nevertheless,  have  that  pasture  before  he 
died. 

But  then,  as  if  fate,  too,  were  against  him,  the  rail- 
road was  built,  and  its  station  was  placed  so  that  the 
Pressel  farm  lay  directly  between  it  and  him,  and  of 

374 


JOHN    LUTHER   LONG 

course  the  "life"  went  more  and  more  in  the  direction 
of  the  station — left  him  more  and  more  "out  of  it" — and 
made  him  poorer  and  poorer,  and  Pressel  richer  and 
richer.  And,  when  the  store  laughed  at  that,  Baumgart- 
ner  swore  that  he  would  possess  half  of  the  farm  before 
he  died;  and  as  Pressel  and  his  wife  died,  and  Seffy 
grew  up,  and  as  he  noticed  the  fondness  of  the  little  red- 
headed girl  for  his  little  tow-headed  boy,  he  added  to  his 
adjuration  that  he  would  be  harrowing  that  whole  farm 
before  he  died, — zuithout  paying  a  cent  for  it! 

But  both  Seffy  and  Sally  had  grown  to  a  marriagea- 
ble age  without  anything  happening.  Seffy  had  become 
inordinately  shy,  while  the  coquettish  Sally  had  accepted 
the  attentions  of  Sam  Pritz,  the  clerk  at  the  store,  as  an 
antagonist  more  worthy  of  her,  and  in  a  fashion  which 
sometimes  made  the  father  of  Seffy  swear  and  lose  his 
temper — with  Seffy.  Though,  of  course,  in  the  final  dis- 
position of  the  matter,  he  was  sure  that  no  girl  so  nice 
as  Sally  would  marry  such  a  person  as  Sam  Pritz,  with 
no  extremely  visible  means  of  support — a  salary  of  four 
dollars  a  week,  and  an  odious  reputation  for  liquor.  And 
it  was  for  these  things,  all  of  which  were  known  (for 
Baumgartner  had  not  a  single  secret)  that  the  company 
at  the  store  detected  the  personal  equation  in  Old  Baum- 
gartner's  communications. 

Seffy  had  almost  arrived  by  this  time,  and  Sally  was 
in  the  store !  With  Sam !  The  situation  was  highly  dra- 
matic. But  the  old  man  consummately  ignored  this  com- 
plication and  directed  attention  to  his  son.  For  him,  the 
molasses-tapper  did  not  exist.  The  fact  is  he  was  over- 
joyed. Seffy,  for  once  in  his  life,  would  be  on  time!  He 
would  do  the  rest. 

"Now,  boys,  chust  look  at  'em !  Dogged  if  they  ain't 
bose  like  one  another!    How's  the  proferb?    Birds  of  a 

375 


SEFFY   AND    SALLY 

feather  flock  wiss  one  another?  I  dunno.  Anyhow,  Sef 
flocks  wiss  Betz  constant.  And  they  understand  one  an- 
other good.  Trotting  Hke  a  sidewise  dog  of  a  hot  sum- 
mer's day !"  And  he  showed  the  company,  up  and  down 
the  store-porch,  just  how  a  sidewise  dog  would  be  hkely 
to  trot  on  a  hot  summer  day — and  then  laughed  joy- 
ously. 

If  there  had  been  an  artist  eye  to  see  they  would  have 
been  well  worth  its  while — Seffy  and  the  mare  so  affec- 
tionately disparaged.  And,  after  all,  I  am  not  sure  that 
the  speaker  himself  had  not  an  artist's  eye.  For  a  spring 
pasture,  or  a  fallow  upland,  or  a  drove  of  goodly  cows 
deep  in  his  clover,  I  know  he  had.  (Perhaps  you,  too, 
have?)   And  this  was  his  best  mare  and  his  only  son. 

The  big  bay,  clad  in  broad-banded  harness,  soft  with 
oil  and  glittering  with  brasses,  was  shambling  indolently 
down  the  hill,  resisting  her  own  momentum  by  the  diago- 
nal motion  the  old  man  had  likened  to  a  dog's  sidewise 
trot.  The  looped  trace-chains  were  jingling  a  merry 
dithyramb,  her  head  was  nodding,  her  tail  swaying,  and 
Seffy,  propped  by  his  elbow  on  her  broad  back,  one  leg 
swung  between  the  hames,  the  other  keeping  time  on  her 
ribs,  was  singing : 

"  *I  want  to  be  an  angel 

And  with  the  angels  stand, 
A  crown  upon  my  forehead 
A  harp  within  my  hand — ' " 


His  adoring  father  chuckled.  *T  wonder  what  for 
kind  of  anchel  he'd  make,  anyhow?  And  Betz — they'll 
have  to  go  together.  Say,  I  wonder  if  it  is  horse-an- 
chels?" 

No  one  knew ;  no  one  offered  a  suggestion. 

"Well,  it  ought  to  be.  Say — he  ken  perform  circus  wiss 
ol'Betz!" 

376 


JOHN   LUTHER   LONG 

They  expressed  their  polite  surprise  at  this  for  per- 
haps the  hundredth  time. 

"Yas — they  have  a  kind  of  circus-ring-  in  the  barnyard. 
He  stands  on  one  foot,  then  on  another,  and  on  his  hands 
wiss  his  feet  kicking,  and  then  he  says  words — Hke 
hokey-pokey — and  Betz  she  kicks  up  behind  and  throws 
him  off  in  the  dung  and  we  all  laugh — happy  efer  after — 
Betz  most  of  all !" 

After  the  applause  he  said : 

"I  guess  I'd  better  wake  'em  up !  What  you  sink  ?" 

They  one  and  all  thought  he  had.  They  knew  he  would 
do  it,  no  matter  what  they  thought.  His  method,  as  usual, 
was  his  own.  He  stepped  to  the  adjoining  field,  and, 
selecting  a  clod  with  the  steely  polish  of  the  plowshare 
upon  it,  threw  it  at  the  mare.  It  struck  her  on  the  flank. 
She  gathered  her  feet  under  her  in  sudden  alarm,  then 
slowly  relaxed,  looked  slyly  for  the  old  man,  found  him, 
and  understanding,  suddenly  wheeled  and  ambled  off 
home,  leaving  Seffy  prone  on  the  ground  as  her  part  of 
the  joke. 

The  old  man  brought  Seffy  in  triumph  to  the  store- 
porch. 

"Chust  stopped  you  afore  you  got  to  be  a  anchel !"  he 
M^as  saying.  "We  couldn't  bear  to  sink  about  you  being  a 
anchel — an'  wiss  the  anchels  stand — a  harp  upon  your 
forehead,  a  crown  within  your  hand,  I  expect — when  it's 
corn-planting  time." 

Seffy  grinned  cheerfully,  brushed  off  the  dust  and 
contemplated  his  father's  watch — held  accusingly  against 
him.   Old  Baumgartner  went  on  gaily. 

"About  an  inch  and  a  half  apast  ten !  Seffy,  I'm  glad 
you  ain't  breaking  your  reputation  for  being  fastnachtich. 
Chust  about  a  quarter  of  an  inch  too  late  for  the  prize  wiss 
flour  on  its  hair  and  arms  and  its  frock  pinned  up  to  show 

377 


SEFFY   AND    SALLY 

its  new  pelticoat !  Uhu !  If  I  had  such  a  nice  petticoat — " 
he  imitated  the  lady  in  question,  to  the  tremendous  de- 
Hght  of  the  gentle  loafers. 

Seffy  stared  a  little  and  rubbed  some  dust  out  of  his 
eyes.   He  was  pleasant  but  dull. 

"Yassir,  Sef,  if  you'd  a-got  yere  at  a  inch  and  a  quar- 
ter apast!  Now  Sam's  got  her.  Down  in  the  cellar  a- 
licking  molasses  together!  Doggone  if  Sam  don't  git 
eferysing — except  his  due  bills.  He  don't  want  to  be  no 
anchel  tell  he  dies.  He's  got  fun  enough  yere — ^but  Seffy 
— you're  like  the  flow  of  molasses  in  January — at  court- 
ing." 

This  oblique  suasion  made  no  impression  on  Seffy.  It 
is  doubtful  if  he  understood  it  at  all.  The  loafers  began 
to  smile.  One  laughed.  The  old  man  checked  him  with  a 
threat  of  personal  harm. 

"Hold  on  there,  Jefferson  Dafis  Busby,"  he  chid.  "I 
don't  allow  no  one  to  laugh  at  my  Seffy — except  chust 
me — account  I'm  his  daddy.  It's  a  fight-word  the  next 
time  you  do  it." 

Mr.  Busby  straightened  his  countenance. 

"He  don't  seem  to  notice — nor  keer — 'bout  gals — do 
he?" 

No  one  spoke. 

"No,  durn  him,  he  ain't  no  good.  Say — what'll  you 
give  for  him,  hah  ?  Yere  he  goes  to  the  highest  bidder — 
for  richer,  for  poorer,  for  better,  for  worser,  up  and 
down,  in  and  out,  swing  your  partners — what's  bid  ?  He 
ken  plow  as  crooked  as  a  mule's  hind  leg,  sleep  hard  as  a 
'possum  in  wintertime,  eat  like  a  snake,  git  left  efery 
time — ^but  he  ken  ketch  fish.  They  wait  on  him.  What's 
bid?" 

No  one  would  hazard  a  bid. 

"Yit  a  minute,"  shouted  the  old  fellow,  pulling  out  his 

378 


JOHN    LUTHER   LONG 

bull's-eye  watch  again,  "what's  bid  ?   Going — going — all 
done — going — " 

"A  dollar!" 

The  bid  came  from  behind  him,  and  the  voice  was 
beautiful  to  hear.  A  gleam  came  into  the  old  man's  eyes 
as  he  heard  it.  He  deliberately  put  the  watch  back  in  its 
pocket,  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  turned,  as  if  she  were  a 
stranger. 

"Gone!"  he  announced  then.  "Who's  the  purchaser? 
Come  forwards  and  take  away  you'  property.  What's 
the  name,  please?"  Then  he  pretended  to  recognize  her. 
"Oach!  Sally!  Well,  that's  lucky!  He  goes  in  good 
hands.  He's  sound  and  kind,  but  needs  the  whip."  He 
held  out  his  hand  for  the  dollar. 

It  was  the  girl  of  whom  he  had  spoken  accurately  as 
a  prize.  Her  sleeves  were  turned  up  as  far  as  they  would 
go,  revealing  some  soft  lace-trimmed  whiteness,  and  there 
was  flour  on  her  arms.  Some  patches  of  it  on  her  face 
gave  a  petal-like  effect  to  her  otherwise  aggressive  color. 
The  pretty  dress  was  pinned  far  enough  back  to  reveal 
the  prettier  petticoat — plus  a  pair  of  trimly-clad  ankles. 

Perhaps  these  were  neither  the  garments  nor  the  airs 
in  which  every  farmer-maiden  did  her  baking.  But  then, 
Sally  was  no  ordinary  farmer-maiden.  She  was  all  this, 
it  is  true,  but  she  was,  besides,  grace  and  color  and  charm 
itself.  And  if  she  chose  to  bake  in  such  attire — or,  even, 
if  she  chose  to  pretend  to  do  so,  where  was  the  churl  to 
say  her  nay,  even  though  the  flour  was  part  of  a  deliber- 
ate "make  up"?  Certainly  he  was  not  at  the  store  that 
summer  morning. 

And  Seffy  was  there.  Her  hair  escaped  redness  by  only 
a  little.  But  that  little  was  just  the  difference  between 
ugliness  and  beauty.  For,  whether  Sally  were  beautiful 
or  not — about  which  we  might  contend  a  bit — her  hair 

379 


SEFFY   AND    SALLY 

was,  and  perhaps  that  is  the  reason  why  it  was  nearly 
always  uncovered — or,  possibly,  again,  because  it  was  so 
much  uncovered  was  the  reason  it  was  beautiful.  It 
seemed  to  catch  some  of  the  glory  of  the  sun.  Her  face 
had  a  few  freckles  and  her  mouth  was  a  trifle  too  large. 
But,  in  it  were  splendid  teeth. 

In  short,  by  the  magic  of  brilliant  color  and  natural 
grace  she  narrowly  escaped  being  extremely  handsome — 
in  the  way  of  a  sunburned  peach,  or  a  maiden's-blush 
apple.  And  even  if  you  should  think  she  were  not  hand- 
some, you  would  admit  that  there  was  an  indescribable 
rustic  charm  about  her.  She  was  like  the  aroma  of  the 
hay-fields,  or  the  woods,  or  a  field  of  daisies,  or  dande- 
lions. 

The  girl,  laughing,  surrendered  the  money,  and  the 
old  man,  taking  an  arm  of  each,  marched  them  per- 
emptorily away. 

"Come  to  the  house  and  git  his  clothes.  Eferysing  goes 
in — stofepipe  hat,  butterfly  necktie,  diamond  pin,  tooth- 
brush, hair-oil,  razor  and  soap." 

They  had  got  far  enough  around  the  corner  to  be  out 
of  sight  of  the  store,  during  this  gaiety,  and  the  old  man 
now  shoved  Seffy  and  the  girl  out  in  front  of  him,  linked 
their  arms,  and  retreated  to  the  rear. 

"What  Sephenijah  P.  Baumgartner,  Senior,  hath 
j'ined  together,  let  nobody  put  athunder,  begoshens!"  he 
announced. 

The  proceeding  appeared  to  be  painful  to  Sefify,  but  not 
to  Sally.  She  frankly  accepted  the  situation  and  promptly 
put  into  action  its  opportunities  for  coquetry.  She  begged 
him,  first,  with  consummate  aplomb,  to  aid  her  in  adjust- 
ing her  parcels  more  securely,  insisting  upon  carrying 
them  herself,  and  it  would  be  impossible  to  describe  ade- 
quately her  allures.    The  electrical  touches,  half-caress, 

380 


JOHN    LUTHER    LONG 

half-defiance;  the  confidential  whisperings,  so  that  the 
wily  old  man  in  the  rear  might  not  hear;  the  surges  up 
against  him;  the  recoveries — only  to  surge  again — these 
would  require  a  mechanical  contrivance  which  reports 
not  only  speech  but  action — and  even  this  might  easily 
fail,  so  subtle  was  it  all ! 

"Sef — Seffy,  I  thought  it  was  his  old  watch  he  was 
auctioning  off.  I  wanted  it  for — for — a  nest-egg!  aha- 
ha-ha!  You  must  excuse  me." 

"You  wouldn't  'a'  bid  at  all  if  you'd  knowed  it  was  me, 
I  reckon,"  said  Seffy. 

"Yes,  I  would,"  declared  the  coquette.  "I'd  rather  have 
you  than  any  nest-egg  in  the  whole  world — any  two  of 
'em !" — and  when  he  did  not  take  his  chance — "if  they 
were  made  of  gold !" 

But  then  she  spoiled  it. 

"It's  worse  fellows  than  you,  Seffy."  The  touch  of 
coquetry  was  but  too  apparent. 

"And  better,"  said  Seffy,  with  a  lump  in  his  throat. 
"I  know  I  ain't  no  good  with  girls — and  I  don't  care!" 

"Yes!"  she  assented  wickedly.  "There  are  better 
ones." 

"Sam  Pritz— " 

Sally  looked  away,  smiled,  and  was  silent. 

"Sulky  Seffy!"  she  finally  said. 

"If  he  does  stink  of  salt  mackerel,  and  'most  always 
'drunk!"  Seffy  went  on  bitterly.  "He's  nothing  but  a 
molasses-tapper !" 

Sally  began  to  drift  farther  away  and  to  sing.  Calling 
Pritz  names  was  of  no  consequence — except  that  it  kept 
Seffy  from  making  love  to  her  while  he  was  doing  it — 
which  seemed  foolish  to  Sally.  The  old  man  came  up 
and  brought  them  together  again. 

"Oach!  go  'long  and  make  lofe  some  more.   I  like  to 

381 


SEFFY   AND   SALLY 

see  It.  I  expect  I  am  an  old  fool,  but  I  like  lo  see  it — 
it's  like  ol'  times — yas,  and  if  you  don't  look  out  there, 
_Seffy,  I'll  take  a  hand  myself — yassir!  go  'long!" 

He  drew  them  very  close  together,  each  looking  the 
Other  way.  Indeed  he  held  them  there  for  a  moment, 
roughly, 

Seffy  stole  a  glance  at  Sally.  He  wanted  to  see  how  she 
was  taking  his  father's  odiously  intimate  suggestion.  But 
it  happened  that  Sally  wanted  to  see  how  he  was  taking 
it.  She  laughed  with  the  frankest  of  joy  as  their  eyes 
met. 

"Seffy — I  do — like  you,"  said  the  coquette.  "And  you 
pught  to  know  it.   You  imp !" 

Now  this  was  immensely  stimulating  to  the  bashful 

"I  like  you,"  he  said — "ever  since  we  was  babies." 

"Sef — I  don't  believe  you.  Or  you  wouldn't  waste 
your  time  so — about  Sam  Pritz !" 

"Er — Sally — where  you  going  to  to-night?"  Seffy 
meant  to  prove  himself. 

And  Sally  answered,  with  a  little  fright  at  the  sudden 
aggressiveness  she  had  procured. 

"Nowheres  that  /  know  of." 

"Well — may  I  set  up  with  you?" 

The  pea-green  sunbonnet  could  not  conceal  the  utter 
amazement  and  then  the  radiance  which  shot  into  Sally's 
face. 

"Set— up— with— me !" 

"Yes!"  said  Seffy,  almost  savagely.  "That's  what  I 
said." 

"Oh,  I — I  guess  so!  Yes!  of  course!"  she  answered 
variously,  and  rushed  off  home. 

"You  know  I  own  you,"  she  laughed  back,  as  if  she 
had  not  been  sufficiently  explicit.   "I  paid  for  you  I  Your 

382 


JOHN    LUTHER   LONG 

'pappy's  got  the  money!  I'll  expect  my  property  to- 
night." 

"Yas !"  shouted  the  happy  old  man,  "and  begoshens ! 
it's  a  reg'lar  bargain !  Ain't  it,  Seffy  ?  You  her  property 
— real  estate,  hereditaments  and  tenements."  And  even 
Seffy  was  drawn  into  the  joyous  laughing  conceit  of  it ! 
Had  he  not  just  done  the  bravest  thing  of  his  small  life? 

"Yes!"  he  cried  after  the  fascinating  Sally.  "For  sure 
and  certain,  to-night !" 

"It's  a  bargain !"  cried  she.  , 

"For  better  or  worser,  richer  or  poorer,  up  an'  down, 
in  an'  out,  chassez  right  and  left!  Aha-ha-ha!  Aha-ha- 
ha!  But,  Seffy," — and  the  happy  father  turned  to  the 
happy  son  and  hugged  him,  "don't  you  efer  forgit  that 
she's  a  feather-head  and  got  a  bright  red  temper  like  her 
daddy !  And  they  both  work  mighty  bad  together  some- 
times. When  you  get  her  at  the  right  place  onct — well, 
nail  her  down — hand  and  feet — so's  she  can't  git  away. 
When  she  gits  mad  her  little  brain  evaporates,  and  if  she 
had  a  knife  she'd  go  round  stabbing  her  best  friends — 
that's  the  only  sing  that  safes  her — yas,  and  us! — no 
knife.  If  she  had  a  knife  it  would  be  funerals  following 
her  all  the  time." 

II 

They  advanced  together  now,  Seffy's  father  whistling 
some  tune  that  was  never  heard  before  on  earth,  and, 
with  his  arm  in  that  of  his  son,  they  watched  Sally 
bounding  away.  Once  more,  as  she  leaped  a  fence,  she 
looked  laughingly  back.  The  old  man  whistled  wildly 
out  of  tune,    Seffy  waved  a  hand ! 

"Now  you  shouting,  Seffy !  Shout  ag'in  !'* 

"I  didn't  say  a  word !" 

"Well— it  ain't  too  late !  Go  on !" 

383 


SEFFY   AND    SALLY 

Now  Seffy  understood  and  laughed  with  his  father. 

"Nice  gal,  Sef— Seffy!" 

"Yes !"  admitted  Seffy  with  reserve. 

"Healthy." 

Seffy  agreed  to  this,  also. 

"No  doctor-bills!"  his  father  amplified. 

Seffy  said  nothing. 

"Entire  orphen." 

"She's  got  a  granny!" 

"Yas,"  chuckled  the  old  man  at  the  way  his  son  was 
drifting  into  the  situation — thinking  about  granny! — 
"but  Sally  owns  the  farm!" 

"Uhu !"  said  Seffy,  whatever  that  might  mean. 

"And  Sally's  the  boss!" 

Silence. 

"And  granny  won't  object  to  any  one  Sally  marries, 
anyhow — she  dassent!    She'd  git  licked!" 

"Who  said  anything  about  marrying  ?" 

Seffy  was  speciously  savage  now — as  any  successful 
wooer  might  be. 

"Nobody  but  me,  sank  you!"  said  the  old  man  with 
equally  specious  meekness.  "Look  how  she  ken  jump  a 
six-rail  fence.  Like  a  three-year  filly!  She's  a  nice  gal, 
Seffy — and  the  farms  j'ine  together — her  pasture-field 
and  our  corn-field.  And  she's  kissing  her  hand  back- 
wards! At  me  or  you,  Seffy?" 

Seffy  said  he  didn't  know.  And  he  did  not  return  the 
kiss — though  he  yearned  to. 

"Well,  I  bet  a  dollar  that  the  first  initial  of  his  last  name 
is  Sephanijah  P.  Baumgartner,  Junior.^* 

"Well!"  said  Seffy  with  a  great  flourish,  "I'm  going 
to  set  up  with  her  to-night." 

"Oach — git  out,  Sef !" — though  he  knew  it. 

"You'll  see." 

384 


JOHN    LUTHER    LONG 

"No,  I  won't,"  said  his  father.  "I  wouldn't  be  so  durn 
mean.  Nossir!" 

Seffy  grinned  at  this  subtle  foolery,  and  his  courage 
continued  to  grow. 

"I'm  going  to  wear  my  high  hat!"  he  announced,  with 
his  nose  quite  in  the  air. 

"No,  Sef !"  said  the  pld  man  with  a  wonderful  inflec- 
tion, facing  him  about  that  he  might  look  into  his  de- 
termined face.  For  it  must  be  explained  that  the  stove- 
pipe hat,  in  that  day  and  that  country,  was  dedicated  only 
to  the  most  momentous  social  occasions  and  that,  conse- 
quently, gentlemen  wore  it  to  go  courting. 

"Yes !"  declared  Seffy  again. 

"Bring  forth  the  stovepipe. 
The  stovepipe,  the  stovepipe — " 

chanted  Seffy's  frivolous  father  in  the  way  of  the  Anvil 
Chorus. 

"And  my  butterfly  necktie  with — " 

"Wiss  the  di'mond  on?"  whispered  his  father. 

They  laughed  in  confidence  of  their  secret.  Seffy,  the 
successful  wooer,  was  thawing  out  again.  The  diamond 
was  not  a  diamond  at  all — the  Hebrew  who  sold  it  to 
Seffy  had  confessed  as  much.  But  he  also  swore  that  if  it 
were  kept  in  perfect  polish  no  one  but  a  diamond  mer- 
chant could  tell  the  difference.  Therefore,  there  being 
no  diamond  merchant  anywhere  near,  and  the  jewel  be- 
ing always  immaculate,  Seffy  presented  it  as  a  diamond 
and  had  risen  perceptibly  in  the  opinion  of  the  vicinage. 

"And — and — and — Sef — Seffy,    what    you    goin'    to 

"Do?" 

Seffy  had  been  absorbed  in  what  he  was  going  to  wear. 
"Yas — yas — that's  the  most  important."   He  encircled 

385 


SEFFY   AND    SALLY 

Seffy's  waist  and  gently  squeezed  it.  "Oh,  of  course! 
Hah?  But  what  3/^7 f" 

I  regret  to  say  that  Seffy  did  not  understand. 

"Seffy,"  he  said  impressively,  "you  haf  tol'  me  what 
you  goin'  to  wear.  It  ain't  much.  The  weather's  yit 
pooty  col'  nights.  But  I  ken  stand  it  if  you  ken — God 
knows  about  Sally!  Now,  what  you  goin'  to  do — that's 
the  conuntrum  I  ast  you !" 

Still  it  was  not  clear  to  Seffy. 

"Why — what  I'm  a-going  to  do,  hah?  Why — ^what- 
ever occurs." 

"Gosh-a'mighty !  And  nefer  say  a  word  or  do  a  sing 
to  help  the  occurrences  along  ?  Goshens !  What  a  setting- 
up  !  Why — say — Seffy,  what  you  set  up  forf" 

Seffy  did  not  exactly  know.  He  had  never  hoped  to 
practise  the  thing — in  that  sublimely  militant  phase. 

"What  do  3;ow  think?" 

"Well,  Sef — plow  straight  to  her  heart.  I  wisht  I  had 
your  chance.  I'd  show  you  a  other-guess  kind  a  setting- 
up — yassir!  Make  your  mouth  warter  and  your  head 
swim,  begoshens!  Why,  that  Sally's  just  like  a  young 
stubble-field ;  got  to  be  worked  constant,  and  plowed 
deep,  and  manured  heafy,  and  mebby  drained  wiss  blind 
ditches,  and  crops  changed  constant,  and  kep'  a-going 
thataway — constant — constant — so's  the  weeds  can't  git 
in  her.  Then  you  ken  put  her  in  wheat  after  a  while  and 
git  your  money  back." 

This  drastic  metaphor  had  its  effect.  Seffy  began  to 
understand.   He  said  so. 

"Now,  look  here,  Seffy,"  his  father  went  on  more 
softly,  "when  you  git  to  this — and  this — and  this," — he 
went  through  his  pantomime  again,  and  it  included  a 
progressive  caressing  to  the  kissing  point — "well,  chust 
when  you  bose  comfortable — hah  ? — mebby  on  one  cheer, 

386 


JOHN    LUTHER   LONG 

what  I  Icnow — it's  so  long  sence  I  done  it  myself — when 
you  bose  comfortable,  ast  her — chust  ast  her — aham ! — 
what  she'll  take  for  the  pasture-field !  She  owns  you  bose 
and  she  can't  use  bose  you  and  the  pasture.  A  bird  in  the 
hand  is  worth  seferal  in  another  feller's — not  so?" 

But  Seffy  only  stopped  and  stared  at  his  father.  This, 
again,  he  did  not  understand. 

"You  know  well  enough  I  got  no  money  to  buy  no 
pasture-field,"  said  he. 

"Gosh-a'mighty !"  said  the  old  man  joyfully,  making 
as  if  he  would  strike  Seffy  with  his  huge  fist — a  thing  he 
often  did.   "And  ain't  got  nossing  to  trade?" 

"Nothing  except  the  mare !"  said  the  boy. 

"Say — ain't  you  got  no  feelings,  you  idjiot?" 

"Oh—"  said  Seffy.  And  then:  "But  what's  feelings 
got  to  do  with  cow-pasture  ?" 

"Oach !  No  wonder  he  wants  to  be  an  anchel,  and  wiss 
the  anchels  stand — holding  sings  in  his  hands  and  on  his 
head!  He's  too  good  for  this  wile  world.  He'd  linger 
shifering  on  the  brink  and  fear  to  launch  away  all  his 
durn  life — if  some  one  didn't  push  him  in.  So  here 
goes !" 

This  was  spoken  to  the  skies,  apparently,  but  now  he 
turned  to  his  son  again. 

"Look  a-yere,  you  young  dummer-ux,*  feelings  is  the 
same  to  gals  like  Sally,  as  money  is  to  you  and  me.  You 
ken  buy  potatoes  wiss  'em !  Do  you  understand  ?" 

Seffy  said  that  he  did,  now. 

"Well,  then,  I'fe  tried  to  buy  that  pasture-field  a 
sousand  times — " 

Seffy  started. 

"Yas,  that's  a  little  bit  a  He — mebby  a  dozen  times. 
And  at  last  Sally's  daddy  said  he'd  lick  me  if  I  efer  said 

*  Dumb  ox — a  term  of  reproach. 


SEFFY   AND    SALLY 

pasture-Held  ag'In,  and  I  said  it  ag'in  and  he  licked  me! 
He  was  a  big  man — and  red-headed  yit,  like  Sally.  Now, 
look  a-yere — you  ken  git  that  pasture-field  wissout  money 
and  wissout  price — except  you'  dam'  feelings  which  ain't 
no  other  use.  Sally  won't  lick  you — if  she  is  bigger — 
don't  be  a-skeered.  You  got  tons  of  feelin's  you  ain't 
got  no  other  use  for — don't  waste  'em — they're  good 
green  money,  and  we'll  git  efen  wiss  Sally's  daddy  for 
licking  me  yit — and  somesing  on  the  side !   Huh  ?" 

At  last  it  was  evident  that  Seffy  fully  understood, 
and  his  father  broke  into  that  discordant  whistle  once 
more. 

"A  gal  that  ken  jump  a  six-rail  fence — and  wissout  no 
running  start — don't  let  her  git  apast  you !" 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  set  up  with  her  to-night,"  said 
Seffy  again,  with  a  huge  ahem.  And  the  tune  his  father 
whistled  as  he  opened  the  door  for  him  sounded  some- 
thing like  "I  want  to  be  an  angel." 

"But  not  to  buy  no  pasture-land !"  warned  Seffy. 

"Oach,  no,  of  course  not !"  agreed  his  wily  old  father. 
"That's  just  one  of  my  durn  jokes.  But  I  expect  I'll  take 
the  fence  down  to-morrow!  Say,  Sef,  you  chust  marry 
the  gal.  I'll  take  keer  the  fence !"  ^ 

III 

It  took  Seffy  a  long  time  to  array  himself  as  he  had 
threatened.  And  when  it  was  all  done  you  wouldn't  have 
known  him — you  wouldn't  have  cared  to  know  him.  For 
his  fine  yellow  hair  was  changed  to  an  ugly  brown  by 
the  patent  hair-oil  with  which  he  had  dressed  it — and  you 
would  not  have  liked  its  fragrance,  I  trust.  Bergamot,  I 
think  it  was.  His  fine  young  throat  was  garroted  within 
a  starched  standing  collar,  his  feet  were  pinched  in  creak- 

388 


JOHN    LUTHER    LONG 

ing  boots,  his  hands  close-gauntleted  in  buckskin  gloves, 
and  he  altogether  incomparable,  uncomfortable,  and  tri- 
umphant. 

Down  stairs  his  father  paced  the  floor,  watch  in  hand. 
From  time  to  time  he  would  call  out  the  hour,  like  a 
watchman  on  a  minaret.  At  last : 

"Look  a-yere,  Seffy,  it's  about  two  inches  apast  seven 
— and  by  the  time  you  git  there — say,  yiefer  gif  another 
feller  a  chance  to  git  there  afore  you  or  to  leave  after 
you !" 

Seffy  descended  at  that  moment  with  his  hat  poised  in 
his  left  hand. 

His  father  dropped  his  watch  and  picked  it  up. 

Both  stood  at  gaze  for  a  moment. 

"Sunder,  Sef !  You  as  beautiful  as  the  sun,  moon  and 
stars — and  as  stinky  as  seferal  apothecary  shops.  Yere, 
take  the  watch  and  git  along — so's  you  haf  some  time  wiss 
you — now  git  along!  You  late  a' ready.  Goshens!  You 
wass  behind  time  when  you  wass  born !  Yas,  your  mam- 
my wass  disapp'inted  in  you  right  at  first.  You  wass 
seventy-six  hours  late!  But  now  you  reformed — sank 
God !  I  always  knowed  it  wass  a  cure  for  it,  but  I  didn't 
know  it  wass  anysing  as  nice  as  Sally." 

Seffy  issued  forth  to  his  first  conquest — lighted  as  far 
as  the  front  gate  by  the  fat  lamp  held  in  his  father's  hand. 

"A — Sef — Seffy,  shall  I  set  up  for  you  tell  you  git 
home?"  he  called  into  the  dark. 

"No!"  shouted  Seffy. 

"Aha — aha — aha!  That  sounds  right!  Don't  you  for- 
git  when  you  bose — well — comfortable — aha — aha  I 
Mebby  on  one  cheer  aha — ha-ha.  And  we'll  bose  take 
the  fence  down  to-morrow.  Mebby  all  three !" 


389 


AN  ARCHiEOLOGICAL  CONGRESS 

BY   ROBERT   J.    BURDETTE 

"  'There's  none  can  tell  about  my  birth 
For  I'm  as  old  as  the  big  round  earth ; 
Ye  young  Immortals  clear  the  track, 
I'm  the  bearded  Joke  on  the  Carpet  tack." 

Thus  spoke 

A  Joke 

With  boastful  croak ; 

And  as  he  said, 

Upon  his  head 

He  stood,  and  waited  for  the  tread 

Of  thoughtless  wight, 

Who,  in  the  night, 

Gets  up,  arrayed  in  garments  white, 

And  indiscreet. 

With  unshod  feet. 

Prowls  round  for  something  good  to  eat. 

But  other  Jokes 

His  speech  provokes ; 

And  old,  and  bald,  and  lame,  and  gray, 

With  loftiest  scorn  they  say  him  Nay ; 

And  bid  him  hold  his  unwcaned  tongue. 

For  they  were  blind  ere  he  was  young. 

So  hot 

They  grew. 

This  complot 

Crew, 

;390 


ROBERT  J.  BURDETTE 

They  laid  a  plan 

To  catch  a  Man ; 

That  all  the  clan 

Might  then  trepan 

His  skull  with  Jokes;  they  thus  began: 

First  Mule,  his  heel  its  skill  to  try, 

Amid  his  ribs  like  lightning  laid — 
And  back  recoiled — he  well  knew  why ; 

"Insurance  Man,"  he  faintly  sayed. 

Next  Stove  Pipe  rushed,  as  hot  as  fire, 

"Put  up !"  he  cried,  in  accents  bold ; 
With  Elbow  joint  he  struck  the  lyre. 

And  knocked  the  Weather  Prophet  cold. 

But  thou,  Ice  Cream,  with  hair  so  gray, 

Three  thousand  years  before  the  Flood, 
Cold,  bitter  cold,  will  be  the  day 

Thou  dost  not  warm  the  Jester's  blood. 
"Spoons  for  the  spooney,"  was  her  ancient  song. 
That  with  slow  measure  dragged  its  deathless  length 
along. 

And  longer  had  she  sung,  but  with  a  frown, 

Old  Pie,  impatient,  rose 
And  roared,  "Behold,  I  am  the  Funny  Clown ! 

And  without  me  there  is  no  Joke  that  goes. 

"To  every  Jester  in  the  land, 
I  lend  my  omnipresent  hand ; 
I've  filled  in  Jokes  of  every  grade 
Since  ever  Jokes  and  Pies  were  made; 
Sewed,  pegged  and  pasted,  glued  or  cast, 
If  not  the  first  of  Jokes,  I'll  be  the  last." 

391 


AN   ARCH^OLOGICAL   CONGRESS 

With  heart  unripe  and  mottled  hide, 

Pale  summer  watermeloncholly  sighed, 

And — ^but  the  Muse  would  find  it  vain 

To  give  a  list  of  all  the  train ; 

The  hairless,  purblind,  toothless  crew, 

That  burst  on  Man's  astonished  view — 

The  Bull  dog  and  the  Garden  gate ; 

The  Girl's  Papa  in  wrathful  state; 

Ma'ma  in  law ;  the  Leathern  Clam ; 

The  Woodshed  Cat;  the  Rampant  Ram; 

The  Fly,  the  Goat,  the  Skating  Rink, 

The  Paste-brush  plunging  in  the  Ink ; 

The  Baby  wailing  in  the  Dark ; 

The  Songs  they  sang  upon  the  Ark ; 

Things  that  were  old  when  Earth  was  new. 

And  as  they  lived  still  old  and  older  grew. 

And  as  these  Jokes  about  him  cried, 

And  all  their  Ancient  Arts  upon  him  tried. 

Their  hapless  victim,  Man,  lay  down  and  died. 


392 


A  BOY'S  VIEW  OF  IT 

BY   FRANK   L.    STANTON 

Mother — she's  always  a-sayin',  she  is, 

Boys  must  be  looked  after — got  to  be  strict; 

When  I  tear  my  breeches  like  Billy  tears  his, 
It  helps  'em  considerable  when  I  am  licked ! 

But  it  ain't  leapin'  over  the  fence  or  the  post — 

It's  jest  that  same  lickin'  'at  tears  'em  the  most ! 

Mother — she's  always  a-sayin'  to  me, 

Boys  must  have  people  to  foller  'em  roun' ; 

Kever  kin  tell  where  they're  goin'  to  be ; 
Sure  to  git  lost,  an'  then  have  to  be  foun'. 

An'  then — when  they  find  'em,  they're  so  full  of  joy 

They  can't  keep  from  lovin'  an'  lickin'  the  boy ! 

There's  Jimmy  Johnson — got  lost  on  the  road ; 

Daddy  wuz  drivin'  to  market  one  day, 
Fell  out  the  wagon,  an'  nobody  knowed 

Till  they  come  to  a  halt,  an'  his  daddy  said:   "Hey! 
Wonder  where  Jimmy  is  gone  to  ?"   But  Jim — 
Warn't  no  two  bosses  could  keep  up  with  him ! 

Jest  kept  a-goin',  an'  got  to  a  place 

Where  wuz  a  circus ;  took  up  with  the  clown, 

Cut  off  his  ringlets  and  painted  his  face. 

An'  then  come  right  back  to  his  daddy's  own  town! 

An'  what  do  you  reckon?   His  folks  didn't  know, 

An'  paid  to  see  Jimmy  that  night  in  the  show ! 

393 


A  BOY'S   VIEW   OF  IT 

An*  there's  Billy  Jenkins — he  jest  run  away 

(Folks  at  his  house  wuzn't  treatin'  him  right)  ; 

Went  to  the  place  where  the  red  Injuns  stay; 
An'  once,  when  his  daddy  wuz  travelin'  at  night 

An'  the  Injuns  took  after  him,  hollerin'  loud, 

Bill  run  to  his  rescue,  an'  scalped  the  whole  crowd! 

No  use  in  talkin' — ^boys  don't  have  no  show ! 

Wuzn't  fer  people  a-follerin'  'em  roun'. 
Jest  ain't  no  tellin'  how  fast  they  would  grow"; 

Bet  you  they'd  fool  everybody  in  town ! 
But  mother — she  says  they  need  lickin',  an'  so 
They're  too  busy  hollerin'  to  git  up  an'  grow ! 


394 


"RINGWORM  FRANK" 

BY   JAMES   WHITCOMB   RILEY 

Jest  Frank  Reed's  his  real  name — though 
Boys  all  calls  him  "Ringworm  Frank," 
'Cause  he  alius  runs  round  so. — 
No  man  can't  tell  where  to  bank 
Frank  '11  be, 
Next  you  see 
Er  hear  of  him ! — Drat  his  melts ! — 
That  man's  alius  somers  else! 

We're  old  pards. — But  Frank  he  jest 

Can't  stay  still ! — Wuz  prosper'n'  here. 
But  lit  out  on  furder  West 
Somers  on  a  ranch,  last  year : 
Never  heard 
Nary  a  word 
How  he  liked  it,  tel  to-day, 
Got  this  card,  reads  thisaway : — 

"Dad-burn  climate  out  here  makes 

Me  homesick  all  Winter  long, 
And  when  Springtime  comes,  it  takes 
Two  pee-wees  to  sing  one  song, — 
One  sings  'pee,* 
And  the  other  one  'wee!' 
Stay  right  where  you  air,  old  pard. — 
Wisht  /  wuz  this  postal-card !" 


395 


THE  COLONEL'S  CLOTHES 

BY   CAROLINE   HOWARD   GILMAN 

Every  man  has  some  peculiar  taste  or  preference,  and, 
I  think,  though  papa  dressed  with  great  elegance,  his  was 
a  decided  love  of  his  old  clothes;  his  garments,  like  his 
friends,  became  dearer  to  him  from  their  wear  and  tear 
in  his  service,  and  they  were  deposited  successively  in  his 
dressing-room,  though  mamma  thought  them  quite  unfit 
for  him.  He  averred  that  he  required  his  old  hunting- 
suits  for  accidents ;  his  summer  jackets  and  vests,  though 
faded,  were  the  coolest  in  the  world ;  his  worm-eaten  but 
warm  roquelaure  was  admirable  for  riding  about  the 
fields,  etc.  In  vain  mamma  represented  the  economy  of 
cutting  up  some  for  the  boys,  and  giving  others  to  the 
servants;  he  would  not  consent,  nor  part  with  articles 
in  which  he  said  he  felt  at  home.  Often  did  mamma  re- 
monstrate against  the  dressing-room's  looking  like  a 
haberdasher's  shop;  often  did  she  take  down  a  coat,  hold 
it  up  to  the  light,  and  show  him  perforations  that  would 
have  honored  New  Orleans  or  Waterloo;  often,  while 
Chloe  was  flogging  the  pantaloons,  which  ungallantly 
kicked  in  return,  did  she  declare  that  it  was  a  sin  and  a 
shame  for  her  master  to  have  such  things  in  the  house; 
still  the  anti-cherubic  shapes  accumulated  on  the  nails 
and  hooks,  and  were  even  considered  as  of  sufficient  im- 
portance to  be  preserved  from  the  fire  at  the  burning  of 
Roseland. 

Our  little  circle  about  this  time  was  animated  by  a  visit 

396 


CAROLINE    HOWARD    OILMAN 

from  a  peddler.  As  soon  as  he  was  perceived  crossing  the 
lawn  with  a  large  basket  on  his  arm,  and  a  bundle  slung 
across  a  stick  on  his  shoulder,  a  stir  commenced  in  the 
house.  Mamma  assumed  an  air  of  importance  and  respon- 
sibility ;  I  felt  a  pleasurable  excitement ;  Chloe's  and 
Flora's  eyes  twinkled  with  expectation;  while,  from  dif- 
ferent quarters,  the  house  servants  entered,  standing  with 
eyes  and  mouth  silently  open,  as  the  peddler,  after  de- 
positing his  basket  and  deliberately  untying  his  bundle, 
offered  his  goods  to  our  inspection.  He  was  a  stout  man, 
with  a  dark  complexion,  pitted  with  the  small-pox,  and 
spoke  in  a  foreign  accent.  I  confess  that  I  yielded  myself 
to  the  pleasure  of  purchasing  some  gewgaws,  which  I 
afterward  gave  to  Flora,  while  mamma  looked  at  the  glass 
and  plated  ware. 

"Ver  sheap,"  said  the  peddler,  following  her  eye,  and 
taking  up  a  pair  of  glass  pitchers;  "only  two  dollar — 
sheap  as  dirt.  If  te  lady  hash  any  old  closhes,  it  is  petter 
as  money." 

Mamma  took  the  pitchers  in  her  hand  with  an  inquisi- 
torial air,  balanced  them,  knocked  them  with  her  small 
knuckles — they  rang  as  clear  as  a  bell — examined  the 
glass — there  was  not  a  flaw  in  it.  Chloe  went  through  the 
same  process;  they  looked  significantly  at  each  other, 
nodded,  set  the  pitchers  on  the  slab,  and  gave  a  little  ap- 
probatory cough. 

"They  are  certainly  very  cheap,"  said  mamma,  tenta- 
tively. 

"They  is,  for  true,  my  mistress,"  said  Chloe,  with 
solemnity,  "and  more  handsomer  than  Mrs.  Whitney's 
that  she  gin  six  dollars  for  at  Charleston." 

"Chloe,"  said  mamma,  "were  not  those  pantaloons  you 
were  shaking  to-day  quite  shrunk  and  worn  out  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  she;  "and  they  don't  fit  nohow. 

397 


THE   COLONEL'S   CLOTHES 

The  last  time  the  colonel  wore  them  he  seemed  quite  on- 
restless'^ 

"Just  step  up,"  said  her  mistress,  "and  bring  them 
down ;  but  stay — what  did  you  say  was  the  price  of  these 
candlesticks,  sir?" 

"Tish  only  von  dollars;  but  tish  more  cheaper  for  te 
old  closhes.  H  te  lady  will  get  te  old  closhes,  I  will  put 
in  te  pellows  and  te  prush,  and  it  ish  more  sheaper, 
too." 

Chloe  and  mamma  looked  at  each  other,  and  raised 
their  eyebrows. 

"I  will  just  step  up  and  see  those  pantaloons,"  said 
mamma,  in  a  consulting  tone.  "It  will  be  a  mercy  to  the 
colonel  to  clear  out  some  of  that  rubbish.  I  am  confident 
he  can  never  wear  the  pantaloons  again ;  they  are  rubbed 
in  the  knees,  and  require  seating,  and  he  never  will  wear 
seated  pantaloons.  These  things  are  unusually  cheap,  and 
the  colonel  told  me  lately  we  were  in  want  of  a  few  little 
matters  of  this  sort."  Thus  saying,  with  a  significant 
whisper  to  me  to  watch  the  peddler,  she  disappeared  with 
Chloe. 

They  soon  returned,  Chloe  bearing  a  variety  of  gar- 
ments, for  mamma  had  taken  the  important  premier  pas. 
The  pantaloons  were  first  produced.  The  peddler  took 
them  in  his  hand,  which  flew  up  like  an  empty  scale,  to 
show  how  light  they  were ;  he  held  them  up  to  the  sun,  and 
a  half  contemptuous  smile  crossed  his  lips;  then  shaking 
his  head,  he  threw  them  down  beside  his  basket.  A  drab 
overcoat  was  next  inspected,  and  was  also  thrown  aside 
with  a  doubtful  expression. 

"Mr.  Peddler,"  said  mamma,  in  a  very  soft  tone,  "you 
must  allow  me  a  fair  price;  these  are  very  excellent  ar- 
ticles." 

"Oh,  ver  fair,"  said  he,  "but  te  closhes  ish  not  ver 

398 


CAROLINE    HOWARD    GILMAN 

goot;  te  closhesman  is  not  going  to  give  me  noting  for 
dish,"  and  he  laid  a  waistcoat  on  the  other  two  articles. 

Mamma  and  Chloe  had  by  this  time  reached  the  depths 
of  the  basket,  and,  with  sympathetic  exclamations,  ar- 
ranged several  articles  on  the  slab. 

"You  will  let  me  have  these  pitchers,"  said  mamma, 
with  a  look  of  concentrated  resolution,  "for  that  very 
nice  pair  of  pantaloons." 

The  peddler  gave  a  short  whistle  expressive  of  con- 
tempt, shook  his  head,  and  said,  "Tish  not  possibles.  I 
will  give  two  pishers  and  von  prush  for  te  pantaloon  and 
waistcoat." 

Mamma  and  Chloe  glanced  at  each  other  and  at  me; 
I  was  absorbed  in  my  own  bargains,  and  said,  carelessly, 
that  the  pitchers  were  perfect  beauties.  Chloe  pushed  one 
pitcher  a  little  forward,  mamma  pushed  the  other  on  a 
parallel  line,  then  poised  a  decanter,  and  again  applied 
her  delicate  knuckles  for  the  test.  That,  too,  rang  out 
the  musical,  unbroken  sound,  so  dear  to  the  housewife's 
ear,  and,  with  a  pair  of  plated  candlesticks,  was  deposited 
on  the  table.  The  peddler  took  up  the  drab  overcoat. 

"Te  closhesman's  give  noting  for  dish." 

Mamma  looked  disconcerted.  The  expression  of  her 
face  implied  the  fear  that  the  peddler  would  not  even  ac- 
cept it  as  a  gift.  Chloe  and  she  held  a  whispering  consul- 
tation. At  this  moment  Binah  came  in  with  little  Patsey, 
who,  seeing  the  articles  on  the  slab,  pointed  with  her  dim- 
pled fingers,  and  said  her  only  words, 

"Pretty !  pretty !" 

At  the  same  moment,  Lafayette  and  Venus,  the  two  lit- 
tle novices  in  furniture-rubbing,  exclaimed, 

"Ki !  if  dem  ting  an't  shine  too  much !" 

These  opinions  made  the  turning-point  in  mamma's 
mind,  though  coming  from  such  insignificant  sources. 

399 


THE    COLONEL'S    CLOTHES 

"So  they  are  pretty,  my  darling,"  said  mamma  to  Pat- 
sey ;  and  then,  turning  to  the  peddler,  she  asked  him  what 
he  would  give  in  exchange  for  the  pantaloons,  the  waist- 
coat and  the  coat. 

The  peddler  set  aside  two  decanters,  one  pitcher,  the 
plated  candlesticks,  and  a  hearth-brush. 

"Tish  ver  goot  pargains  for  te  lady,"  said  he. 

Mamma  gained  courage. 

"I  can  not  think  of  letting  you  have  all  these  things 
without  something  more.  You  must  at  least  throw  in  that 
little  tray,"  and  she  looked  at  a  small  scarlet  one,  worth 
perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  dollar. 

The  peddler  hesitated,  and  held  it  up  so  that  the  morn- 
ing sun  shone  on  its  bright  hues. 

*T  shall  not  make  a  bargain  without  that,"  said  mamma, 
resolutely.  The  peddler  sighed,  and  laying  it  with  the 
selected  articles  said : 

"Tish  ver  great  pargains  for  te  lady." 

Mamma  smiled  triumphantly,  and  the  peddler,  tying 
up  his  bundle  and  slinging  his  stick,  departed  with  an  air 
of  humility. 

Papa's  voice  was  soon  heard,  as  usual,  before  he  was 
seen. 

"Rub  down  Beauty,  Mark,  and  tell  Diggory  to  call  out 
the  hounds." 

There  was  a  slight  embarrassment  in  mamma's  man- 
ner when  he  entered,  mingled  with  the  same  quantity  of 
bravado.  He  nodded  to  her,  tapped  me  on  the  head  with 
his  riding-whip,  gave  Patsey  a  kiss  as  she  stretched  out 
her  arms  to  him,  tossed  her  in  the  air,  and,  returning  her 
to  her  nurse,  was  passing  on. 

"Do  stop,  Colonel,"  said  mamma,  "and  admire  my  bar- 
gains. See  this  cut  glass  and  plate  that  we  have  been 
wishing  for,  to  save  our  best  set." 

400 


CAROLINE    HOWARD    GILMAN 

"What,  this  trash?"  said  he,  pausing  a  moment  at  the 
table — "blown  glass  and  washed  brass!  Who  has  been 
fooling  you  ?" 

"Colonel,"  said  mamma,  coloring  highly,  "how  can 
you—" 

"I  can  not  stop  a  minute,  now,  wife,"  said  he.  "Jones 
and  Ferguson  are  for  a  hunt  to-day!  They  are  waiting 
at  Drake's  corner.  It  looks  like  falling  weather  and  my 
old  drab  will  come  in  well  to-day." 

Mamma  looked  frightened,  and  he  passed  on  up-stairs. 
He  was  one  of  those  gentlemen  who  keep  a  house  alive,  as 
the  phrase  is,  whether  in  merriment  or  the  contrary,  and 
we  were  always  prepared  to  search  for  his  hat,  or  whip, 
or  slippers,  which  he  was  confident  he  put  in  their  places, 
but  which,  by  some  miracle,  were  often  in  opposite  direc- 
tions. Our  greatest  trial,  however,  was  with  mamma's 
and  his  spectacles,  for  they  had  four  pairs  between  them 
— far-sighted  and  near-sighted.  There  were,  indeed,  opti- 
cal delusions  practiced  with  them ;  for  when  papa  wanted 
his,  they  were  hidden  behind  some  pickle-jar;  and  when 
mamma  had  carefully  placed  hers  in  her  key-basket,  they 
were  generally  found  in  one  of  papa's  various  pockets; 
when  a  distant  object  was  to  be  seen,  he  was  sure  to  mount 
the  near-sighted,  and  cry  "Pshaw !"  and  if  a  splinter  was 
to  be  taken  out,  nothing  could  be  found  but  the  far-sighted 
ones,  and  he  said  something  worse:  sometimes  all  four 
pairs  were  missing,  and  such  a  scampering  ensued ! 

We  now  heard  a  great  outcry  up-stairs.  "Wife! 
Chloe!  Cornelia!  come  and  find  my  drab  coat!"  We 
looked  at  each  other  in  dismay,  but  papa  was  not  a  man 
for  delay,  and  we  obeyed  his  summons. 

"Wife,"  said  he,  beating  aside  the  externals  of  man 
that  hung  about  his  dressing-room,  "where  is  my  old 
drab  coat?" 

401 


THE    COLONEL'S    CLOTHES 

Mamma  swallowed  as  if  a  dry  artichoke  was  in  her 
throat,  as  she  said,  slowly,  "Why,  colonel,  you  know  you 
had  not  worn  that  coat  for  months,  and  as  you  have  an- 
other one,  and  a  roquelaure,  and  the  coat  was  full  of  moth- 
holes,  I  exchanged  it  with  the  peddler  for  cut  glass  and 
plate." 

"Cut  devils !"  said  papa,  who  liked  to  soften  an  oath  by 
combinations;  "it  was  worth  twenty  dollars — yes,  more, 
because  I  felt  at  home  in  it.    I  hate  new  coats  as  I  do — " 

"But,  colonel,"  interrupted  mamma,  "you  did  not  see 
the  scarlet  tray,  and  the — " 

"Scarlet  nonsense,"  shouted  papa;  "I  believe,  if  they 
could,  women  would  sell  their  husbands  to  those  rascally 
peddlers !" 

Beauty  and  the  hounds  were  now  pronounced  ready. 
I  followed  papa  to  the  piazza,  and  heard  his  wrath  rolling 
off  as  he  cantered  away. 


402 


